u/Otherwise-Shoe-7212

What fascinates me the most in Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis is that both Gregor and Grete are victims of complex family dynamics. Gregor was viewed as a money-making machine; given the fact that he was the sole provider for their family, his sole value was his ability to provide. And when he was no longer available to cater to their financial problems, his parents slowly became distant.

Grete, on the other hand, was forced to mature long before she should. She was obligated to work, do chores, and take care of her brother and her parents. She was only 16, yet her younger years were stripped away from her just so she could fill in the role of Gregor. And in the end she became frustrated and chose comfort rather than humility. However, at the end of the book, her parents' view on her suddenly changes from being fragile and a little girl who can't do anything to a young woman who is ready to be married off. To me, it feels like she became the next Gregor in her parents' eyes.

In that sense, both Gregor and Grete are victims of parents who struggle to see their children as individuals. Instead, they become the family's means of escaping hardship.

So the question is...

Can our companions in life still be considered as "family" when they only see your value based on your usefulness?

Re-reading and re-watching The Great Gatsby made me realize that the true victim of the story is not Gatsby—it's Daisy. There's always a thin line that separates ambition and obsession, and Gatsby had crossed it before the story even began. He's obsessed with the idea of Daisy from the past that will complete his dream. He might have loved Daisy once, but he loved his American dream more than her. He isn't pursuing the real Daisy; he wants the idealized perfect version of her that he created. Gatsby's obsession with Daisy tells us how eager he is to belong and be part of the old money class; since Daisy was born in a noble family considered as an old money, Gatsby wanted that identity too. That's why he became so agitated and lost his temper when Tom told him that he'll never be one of them. Moreover, Daisy was treated as a decoration for Gatsby's perfect dream world; she was forced to forget about her present relationship with Tom just for Gatsby to accomplish his desire. Imagine Daisy has a child with Tom, and Gatsby wants her to divorce her husband and make it seem like she never liked Tom in the first place. She was torn between a cheating husband and a man who only likes the idealized version of her. However, Daisy might be the victim of the story, but she's also morally corrupt. Her decision at the end to leave Gatsby and choose Tom was her best choice but not the right answer to her problem. For Daisy, every choice will make her a villain. That's why she chooses to hide; she may be morally corrupt and a participant in her corrupt world, but Tom and Gatsby reduce her to an object of desire. She was cheated on by Tom, used, and viewed as a mere object for Gatsby's ideal life. In the end, Daisy may be a rotten apple, but Tom and Gatsby hasten her decay by treating her as an object of desire rather than seeing her as a person.

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This is not meant to ridicule her; I'm just stating my observations about her writing. 🤗

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As a Christie fan I can say that Christie's writing style is easy to digest and entertaining, yet it lacks depth, better characterization, and tighter atmosphere, and her novels focus on reoccurring themes and tropes in mystery. As I diversify my readings regarding mystery novels, I observe that some authors lean heavily on character depth and heavy themes, like Keigo Higashino. That's why I noticed that Christie's writing style is mainly to entertain people. Her books are not character-driven or emotionally driven; her books mainly focus on clever twists that don't appear to be "deus ex machina" or the twists that just appear out of the blue. You'll never question the twists, since it is already established at the beginning. Plus her twists are reasonable and don't appear to be impossible or too far-fetched. And that's what makes her books enjoyable. However, if we were to talk about the way she wrote her characters, the themes of her books, and how atmospheric her books are. I'd say that her writing doesn't justify those I have mentioned.

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Characters: Her characters are two-dimensional. Some of her characters just exist to serve as a red herring. She doesn't explore their backstory, or there's no major development to the characters. Unlike with Doyle, where he wanted you to connect with the culprit by looking into his backstory and show that they are not born evil but the society/people turned them to what we have seen them now. This is just my opinion, but I personally like how Agatha Christie's "And Then There Were None" explores diverse characters that showed remorse, regret, or just plain evil tropes. It is by far one of her books that explores characters' depth.

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Themes: Christie's common themes are revenge, problematic family dynamics, greed, love, etc. However, these themes are common in every mystery book. That's why it doesn't leave that much impact on the readers since the themes are recurring. Unlike Higashino, who focuses on heavier themes like "The Devotion of Suspect X" or "Malice," Christie's And Then There Were None (again) also explores different heavier themes such as regret, conscience, rigid justice systems, etc. And it somehow asks the readers a question: are you willing to take matters in your own hands if our justice system doesn't acknowledge the wrongdoings of a person because his/her actions are not covered by the law?

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Atmosphere: I think some of her books are atmospheric too, like Death on the Nile and Murder on the Orient Express, but if you compare them to other books such as The Mystery of the Yellow Room or Murder in the Rue Morgue, The Labyrinth House Murders, her books are somehow behind. Yet, again, ATTWN is by far her atmospheric book.

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So that's what I observe. I love Christie's novels for their clever twists, but if I am looking for a more in-depth characterization and emotionally driven mystery, I'd go with Doyle and Higashino.

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What do you think? Do you agree or not? I would love to know your thoughts about her writing.

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And what do you think about her character's dialogue?

What are your thoughts about this movie? I just watched it today since I never liked "The Death On The Nile" adaptation. I found this movie interesting and much more enjoyable than "The Death On The Nile."

This is my ekprahisis poem about Norman Rockwell's

“Southern Justice"

“The worst form of justice is pretended justice." — Plato

In a crippling night with ,

the darkness devoured the light.

Though, a light besieged the three men in white.

One lies asleep like a fallen leaf,

the other held his stand, firm and unyielding,

holding a black in white,

whose pains came from the red stain on his shirt.

Fear was carved on his face, who carved it?

Was it the light? What light does fear?

The light of Tartarus' maw.

Yet, the light wasn't his fear,

the phantom of Reapers it carried.

Their shadows advanced through silence.

A bitter jest it was: Reapers in boots,

badges on their breast pockets, their iron pipes,

no scythe in sight.

Wherefore was the Reapers' robe replaced?

For it caused injustice in the eyes of the three men.

Yet, the Reapers throttled them with fear.

The iron pipes were the silent verdict of their death.

Ohh bitter irony: the Reapers didn't have eyes.

Yet, they take lives just for a color they can't see.

But those three men sure had them—

eyes with the flames of justice,

that can't be diminished even by death.

Pleass give me your honest comments. Is this a good ekprahisis? I'm a beginner.

These poems are for school purposes only, I hope you'll give me some tips that can improve my writing... 🤧

HAIKU:

Traditional:

the end of school year—

their caps and gowns crowd the room

my seat stays empty

Modern:

Starless night—

his last bark echoes in my head

salt on my pillows

QUATRAIN:

"Ballot"

Train of people under the sun,

Pockets with papers from who runs,

Inside the green halls, pencils shade,

Thumbs painted red, one vote for trade.

SONNET:

" He who loved me first"

He's little in height, yet strong like a bear,

With a build that's as rough and brown as oak,

His white strokes are poking out of his hair,

His nails are tarnished and yellowed by smoke.

He would strike his hammer all day and night,

Hands with blisters, for a table with food,

He'd build us a house with all his might,

And in times of need he'd give what he could.

Seen with cold eyes and wounded most by me,

For he's silent like a frozen lake,

But when Bacchus calls, he talks like a bee,

Even at night he buzzes with no break.

He loved me from the moment of by birth,

And will love me untill he leaves the Earth.

EKPRAHISIS: Norman Rockwell

“Southern Justice"

“If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor." —Desmond Tutu

In a crippling night with no moon,

the only vivid color was red,

painted on a black man's white shirt.

There were plenty of men,

but only three are in the depth of despair.

One man lies on the ground and caught by the light,

while the black man falls into the arms of another.

They're unable to move for the grims crept through the shadows,

holding a cold iron instead of a scythe.

They wore hats and badges on their breast pockets.

They stared at the black man and the other directly to their eyes,

as if telling them that their inevitable death had come.

How funny that the grims didn't have eyes,

for they have taken lives just for a color they can't see.

But those three men sure had them—

eyes with the flames of justice that can't be diminished even by death.

VILLANELLE:

"Yes"

Ghost of my past whispered, "I should have said"

Yes, when you knelt and held that silver moon.

Yet, I closed the door, and lay on my bed.

Ashamed of your gaze, I hid in my room.

Still, all your cries echoed through my cocoon

Yet, I closed the door and lay on my bed.

God knew you were the end of my red thread,

I pulled it loose and watched it cross the dunes.

Ghost of my past whispered, "I should have said"

"Yes" —instead, I stayed silent like the dead.

Then I saw you wading through a lagoon.

Yet, I closed the door and lay on my bed.

Frightened, I ran until my soles stained red,

Yet, you carried the ring to a new boon.

Your ghost still whispered, "You should have said, yes."

Yet, I closed the door and lay on my bed.

These are all the poems I created. I'm just a beginner and I only wrote this because it's a school requirements 😭

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/afgXbHukYi

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/jNA1ccwEZO

These poems are for school purposes only, I hope you'll give me some tips that can improve my writing... 🤧

HAIKU:

Traditional:

the end of school year—

their caps and gowns crowd the room

my seat stays empty

Modern:

Starless night—

his last bark echoes in my head

salt on my pillows

QUATRAIN:

"Ballot"

Train of people under the sun,

Pockets with papers from who runs,

Inside the green halls, pencils shade,

Thumbs painted red, one vote for trade.

SONNET:

" He who loved me first"

He's little in height, yet strong like a bear,

With a build that's as rough and brown as oak,

His white strokes are poking out of his hair,

His nails are tarnished and yellowed by smoke.

He would strike his hammer all day and night,

Hands with blisters, for a table with food,

He'd build us a house with all his might,

And in times of need he'd give what he could.

Seen with cold eyes and wounded most by me,

For he's silent like a frozen lake,

But when Bacchus calls, he talks like a bee,

Even at night he buzzes with no break.

He loved me from the moment of by birth,

And will love me untill he leaves the Earth.

EKPRAHISIS: Norman Rockwell

“Southern Justice"

“If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor." —Desmond Tutu

In a crippling night with no moon,

the only vivid color was red,

painted on a black man's white shirt.

There were plenty of men,

but only three are in the depth of despair.

One man lies on the ground and caught by the light,

while the black man falls into the arms of another.

They're unable to move for the grims crept through the shadows,

holding a cold iron instead of a scythe.

They wore hats and badges on their breast pockets.

They stared at the black man and the other directly to their eyes,

as if telling them that their inevitable death had come.

How funny that the grims didn't have eyes,

for they have taken lives just for a color they can't see.

But those three men sure had them—

eyes with the flames of justice that can't be diminished even by death.

VILLANELLE:

"Yes"

Ghost of my past whispered, "I should have said"

Yes, when you knelt and held that silver moon.

Yet, I closed the door, and lay on my bed.

Ashamed of your gaze, I hid in my room.

Still, all your cries echoed through my cocoon

Yet, I closed the door and lay on my bed.

God knew you were the end of my red thread,

I pulled it loose and watched it cross the dunes.

Ghost of my past whispered, "I should have said"

"Yes" —instead, I stayed silent like the dead.

Then I saw you wading through a lagoon.

Yet, I closed the door and lay on my bed.

Frightened, I ran until my soles stained red,

Yet, you carried the ring to a new boon.

Your ghost still whispered, "You should have said, yes."

Yet, I closed the door and lay on my bed.

These are all the poems I created. I'm just a beginner and I only wrote this because it's a school requirements 😭