The Horror of it All

What is the appeal of the horror genre?

Graham Masterson believes that the appeal of the horror genre lies within the human psyche. He reports that humans like to imagine what they would do should “a dark shadow with glowing red eyes appear in their bedroom at night.” Essentially, people like to read horror novels and watch horror films because they want to put themselves in the shoes of the characters, according to Masterson.

However, FilmmakerIQ presents a number of different theories regarding the appeal of the horror genre. Although they discuss studies over the synapses of the brain and the psychological reasons for macabre attraction, they settle on this:

People use horror fiction to face their fears and find ways to understand them.

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I, however, believe that the motives for watching horror films come from the person themselves. Throughout the years, I’ve watched horror movies with each member of my family and a few friends. Based upon my observations of a various pool of people, horror does not appeal to some while it does appeal to others. For instance, my mother cannot even be in the room while I watch the AMC drama, The Walking Dead, because of the gore that frequents the show. Despite this, my mother will watch older movies that hold suspense above gore, like Psycho.

After further consideration, my initial reaction to the report has changed to lead me to believe that its results are correct. My mother cannot face the things which make her cringe --fingernail yanking, stabbing, disemboweling--, but this is not the fear she wishes to face. I find that, when I reconsider the conclusion presented, I agree. My mother’s greater fear lies within the average world. In this world, people do in fact get murdered, but what she fears more is that she is living next door to a sociopath or “psycho.” This is the fear she must face, leading suspense thrillers to be the movies which appeal to her.

Masterson’s theory only goes as far to say that people want to imagine what they would do in a certain situation, while FilmmakerIQ makes it more about the viewer. Instead of arguing that horror is a way to imagine what oneself may do, this site seems to sway towards saying that one must see it on a screen so their fear won’t fuel such thoughts.

Has horror maintained its appeal?

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From gore, guts, ghosts and gritting psychological thrillers, horror has many different facets and has seen great change since its inception.

Building off what I previously asserted, I believe that modern horror movies have lost their appeal on two fronts. First, they have lost their appeal in the sense that filmmakers no longer produce a variety of films to cater to the fears of the many. Instead, they seem to cater to those who fear the supernatural and buckets of blood and gore. Therefore, an appeal for horror still exists, but the appeal is absent as a result of this development. Secondly, however, the constant recycling of old ideas through “original” scripts, remakes, and sequels of horror movies worsens this phenomenon because the constant repetition begins to desensitize the audience.

First of all, if they want ratings, filmmakers must consider creating different types of horror movies if they hope to continually attract an audience. The pure reality is that there are different types of viewers who enjoy a variety of fear methods. Constantly making movies full of blood and or ghosts haunting leaves a small audience, for not all are attracted to such films. Even makeup artist for the Texas Chainsaw, Dorothy Pearl, argued against "over kill" when it came to use of blood and gore.

"Sometimes when you put too much blood in a movie, it gets boring," she said. "It doesn't shock you. We wanted to use the amount we did, and when we used it, it would come across as very strong."

In turn, the majority consensus settled upon from the audience may be that the movie was a flop. If the filmmakers presented a greater variety of film to the audience, this trend might lessen. The audience would then be more pleased with their viewing experience, while the movie makers and producers would be more likely to hold the popular opinion.

Returning to my secondary observation, recycling is good for the environment, not the horror genre. When the original Halloween came out, of course it scared the audience to see a teenage girl walking home alone as, unbeknownst to her, a masked killer stalks close behind. Yet the endless throwing out of sequels followed by not one but two remakes (one of the first film and one of the second) make the whole concept feel overdone. Not to mention that one merely has to observe that a number of other films following this featured a similar plot and conflict. The movie makers have to accept that they must reinvent rather than recycle, or this genre will go down the drain faster than Marion Crane’s blood.

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A similar example would be the modern success Paranormal Activity. This film actually put footage of its audience screaming in fear in its commercials, promising to be the best ghost film in years. The audience deemed it as successful as advertised. Of course, the movie makers cranked out sequels with all the same elements, and they destroyed the original’s thrill. Soon, the films felt sillier than they did scary.

Essentially, more creative individuals need to think up the plots because the franchises are merely following trends and ruining the genre. People want to see this genre, but they don't want to see it suffer. Instead of employing the same old devices and horror stereotypes, the genre needs expansion and improvement. Otherwise, horror shall die despite its potential to become greater than we know it to be.

Dead or Flowering?

If horror should die, think only this of it:

That there’s some mourner of  a now foreign time

That has forever lost its sand. There shall be

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In that poor earth a darkness lost to lust revealed;

A lust with which cinema shall lure, shade, make horror remade,

Gave, once, no flowers of blood, with suspense to spill,

A body of Hitchcock thrillers, not slasher killers,

Washed by the writers, lost by the imagined sons of those who sat upon the throne.

And think, this start of fictional evil led astray,

A pulse beats in the underbelly, I confess

  Gives some mourner back the thoughts by Englund given;

Their ideas rebound; dreams come that make others run away.

And screams, learnt from a foreign time; and psychoanalysis

  To stop hearts, under a false face of heaven.




From Page to Screen: Does horror literature translate well into film?

I believe that literature may translate well into film, but, from what I've seen of horror literature, this is not the case. I'm not asserting that the films do not turn out well, but I do claim that literature is twisted in the making.

I must first, however, note the variations which stood out to me.

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For instance, he primary thing that interested me reading Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein was that the monster’s presentation, development and deliverance to the reader. The reason I appreciate this is because it is hard not to pity the monster, but it is easier to lose pity when one is presented with the nature of the monster. The nature of the monster is cold, calculated, and neglected. This leads the monster to kill only a few.

In the versions of film which I find myself familiar with, Frankenstein's monster is presented quite differently. The monster of the novel develops his brain over time, while the monster of the screen doesn't seem to discover that he does in fact have a working brain. When the monster kills, the way it kills, like in the novel, reflects the manner of thinking. This version of the monster kills many.

The contrast between the two is quite evident merely because of the manner of thinking and the concept of pity. I found myself never losing pity for the creature on the screen, as I did for the creature on the page. For the creature on the page had the basic awareness of self while the counterpart I saw on the screen lived in sheer ignorance.

I wonder if this is why the movie makers did this...


Yet I believe that the elements of the literature were eliminated to heighten the fear factor for the audience. The initial reaction to a blundering figure like that which I am familiar to may appear quite frightening. Not to mention that he had the same quest for a bride as the monster on the page. When reconsidered, I believe that this sad tale of a misunderstood beast is not nearly as terrifying as it is tragic. Shelley quite brilliantly conveys the terror an audience should feel because she writes the parts of the monster as isolated and premeditated. Not only is this a more likely occurrence in our lives, it also is not performed as a result of ignorance but of malice. Therefore, in my opinion as a reader and viewer, Frankenstein's monster is only a terrifying creature on the page.

Consequently, I must conclude that the elements of horror literature do not always translate well into film, for creative liberties are taken with the story. This changes the composition of a story and tends to harm the original intentions of authors such as Shelley.

From The Shining to 11/22/63: What are effective elements in horror literature?

Thirty five years elapsed between the release of Stephen King’s The Shining and his 2012 novel 11/22/63. While I initially did not expect that King could be any better of a writer after I so thoroughly enjoyed The Shining, his more recent work proved me wrong. Honestly, I find it intriguing that a writer could be so talented yet still improve.

My favorite improvement was the difference in the depth of characterization. While King obviously characterized well in The Shining, he only characterized in certain areas, which left certain characters without open interpretation of the reader.

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The primary example of this is the antagonist, Jack Torrance. I cannot deny that the character is well developed. His problems and his train of thought are the primary means of presentation to the reader. At times, Torrance even seems the protagonist, making it arguable if he only serves one role in the novel. The descriptions of his past alongside his vivid memories of the tormenting alcoholism which plagued it reveal a great deal about how he reached his current state. However, I believe that King primarily chose to characterize this way in order to heighten the “fear factor” of the novel because this method primarily contributed to his progressive descent into madness. Therefore, I assumed that King chose to develop adult male in this way less to characterize for the reader but at the reader. Essentially, I’m trying to say that Torrance’s characterization, while well thought out, was left slightly shallow in places as a method for King to instill fear within the reader as opposed to attachment, for there are fewer incidents of sincerity from Torrance than there are descending moments.

Meanwhile, after decades more experience, King shows growth in his characterization or, at the very least, his methodology in which he develops his stories. The clear protagonist in 11/22/63, Jake Epping, contrasts the characterization of Torrance in many ways. Although I have not yet finished this novel, I completed The Shining just before, and the difference of the storytelling astounds me as both a reader and inexperienced writer. While The Shining may have a more original plot or better suspense, the characterization of 11/22/63 is far better. I may understand certain logic in not developing Torrance to the extent to which Epping is developed, but I can’t say I prefer it without first seeing it. Honestly, the story instead lends to the characterization of the protagonist in this novel. Epping’s story is presented in first person, allowing for a deeper look at his thoughts and experiences. The tale differs in plot from that which I compare it to, but it is nearly as psychologically oriented. Throughout, Epping finds himself facing challenges from what one expects in classic science fiction to what one expects in classic King horror. However, Epping’s personality --from his divorce, to his basic instincts about cities like Derry and Dallas, and even his personal relationships as a teacher-- make the storyline seem deeper. While one knows that the outer force controlling his circumstances and coloring the cards could drive him insane at anytime, King doesn’t want to drive his audience to believe that this is bound to happen, as he means to with Torrance. Instead, King wants to attach the reader to Epping. Whether or not this is to make the breaking point of Epping more shocking or build support for the character despite his future actions, I have yet to discover.

Overall, I cannot say whether or not Epping will break, while King made it practically blatant that Torrance needed only a single push. Essentially, I admire this slow attachment method of the unknown better. The Shining presents no unknown result, but it presents a constant battle between the reader and the unknown time of the result. Personally, the tale depicted in 11/22/63 is a more successful method of psychological horror because the result of insanity like Torrance’s is subtle. This is almost more likely to instill fear, because attachment to a character leads one to fear losing Epping to insanity rather than the insanity itself.

Of course, I’d love to think that Stephen King is the master writer who plans all and intended all of this. That, of course, also may be true. However, reading two of his novels back to back makes me believe that even the best writers grow over time. Therefore, the fact that King’s characterization methods seem greatly improved after a thirty five year time period should come as no great surprise. If he hadn’t improved in that time, what kind of novelist would he really be? Moreover, I now want to read his sequel to The Shining, Doctor Sleep. If I am to truly confirm this theory, I can’t think of a better way to do this than to see if his characterization is fresh when he depicts at least one of the original characters.

My primary thought from this theory is that this may be why humans only live to a certain allotment of time. If we lived too long, someone might eliminate room for improvement all together. What would be the point of reading something somebody’s written if not to read something better than before?

Now, I’m not saying that 11/22/63 is wholly superior to The Shining, but both novels have their strengths that makes them truly outstanding.

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Such books as the ones I responded to above inspired me to attempt to write my own fictional piece and present a sort of answer to my initial argument. I began to wonder, can a horror stereotype be manipulated creatively using techniques unique to literature?

Stark as the white walls around it, a single page sat atop a bleached wooden podium. A man, chained by his neck to a matching wooden block, slept like a corpse. Deceased to the naked eye.

He startled awake. His scenery flooded into his senses as air does out the automatic doors at the supermarket. Instantly, he perceived the scenario but could not think beyond the mere idea.

He couldn’t stand, the man realized, when he tried to tear himself from the forced slump which pained his back. The pain only intensified with this action, for it tugged and threatened to tear at the very ligaments clinging to his skeleton. Endorphins rushed as the ligaments resisted. Soreness leaked into his muscles like he’d received a syringe of acid where the collar restrained him.

Above his head but victimizing his pupils with incessant stinging, a fluorescent light appeared to hang without a string. Yet it rocked slightly like the type one might see in a police interrogation show.

Maybe the string is white too, he thought. So pure that I’m looking right at it, but I can’t see it.

He never discovered whether or not he was right, whether or not the string was as bland or undetailed. The light burned his searching eyes so that his head began to ache. Desperate to find a new place to look, he discovered that the restraints allowed his eyes to fall one other place.

The podium.

He almost felt as if the podium could see him as he could see it.

Speculation entered his mind about the motives of the podium. What did it want from him? Why did it call him here?

I wonder what I look like to it.

The man cursed the ideas from his mind. An eyeless thing could not watch, especially when said eyeless thing was inanimate. Someone’s watching you, his instincts warned.

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That’s when he noticed the doors.

The doors seemed to tower into existence, as if he’d blinked them to life. Like all else in the room, the doors stood purely white. He assumed that was the reason he’d missed them.

Unlike the string that may not exist, the man found he could bear to study the twin doors. Curved and ornate carvings graced their surface, free of the naturally occurring pores of wood. Paint didn’t cover the pores either. The wood was ash white without a single drop. Its surface merely lacked imperfections.

In fact, perfection carved the set with its bare hands and kissed the surfaces to color them white, the man began to believe the longer he stared.

The beauty was nearly enough to make him forget about the person he believed was staring at him. With the fluorescence of the light shining down, it felt close to heaven.

Heaven opened suddenly, snapping the man’s trance and blinding him with the same sort of light shining above. His eyelids resisted as he pried them open to behold the sheer awesomeness of the silhouetted being taking form before him.

Just as his teary eyes felt as if they’d become as stale as week old crackers and crumble, the doors slammed shut with a deafening BOOM! The figure no longer appeared in silhouette, for the ample light source disappeared behind the doors. It remained a blur, and, at first, the man blamed it on the tears bleeding from his eyes.

Except he could still see the doors.

This time, the surface held no beauty. Splinters littered the surface. Some appeared to have created and become lodged in the once nonexistent pores. Porcupine shapes decimated any sign of the carvings that once distracted the man from the who watching him behind the door.

The man glanced from the figure to the door and back again, his dilated pupils searching for something beyond destruction to connect the two. At times, he lingered on the door longer than the figure and the figure longer than the door. Like subjects in school, each time he paid more mind to one thing, it became clearer than that which he neglected.

So he kept his gaze on the figure.

After what seemed like an eternity of rapid blinking, the figure took a form. It altered so suddenly that the man wasn’t sure if it truly held such a form or if it changed at will to further deceive his eyesight.

What appeared to be a paper mache man stood in front of him. His texture gave away his mache identity. Instead of smooth human skin, strips of uneven newspaper scarred his face. Like Edward Scissorhands, somebody had tried to cover the scarring with makeup. Craft paint, in this case.

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Whoever painted this project was not one of great talent. The mache on his face looked as if somebody took leftover clay water and smeared it all over to give him a freshly baked look when dry. Above this, his hair looked the color of dead grass, trapped on a nasty continuum somewhere between dead yellow and sprout green. While below, the artist had attempted a pink polo, shoes to match, and blue jeans for in between.

The mache man looked like a country club member who stepped into a sand trap with a stack of the day’s post and snapped his spine.

The spine was the worst. Maybe a balloon or two hadn’t popped beneath the papers, but the man couldn’t tell for sure. All he could see was that the mache man --that hellish, innocent creature-- hunched his shoulders as if permanently shrugging at questions which no one asked.

All the man --leaving his compassion in the flesh-- could see was a hideous creature. A creature whom deserved the fate which befell Frankenstein’s monster. The fate of a failed creation. He wondered if, like Frankenstein's monster, the paper mache man imagined a perfect version of himself.

The man opened his mouth to test the creature’s understanding. Frankenstein created a sophisticated monster. Who’s to say this creature was any different?

The creature answered his question before a syllable fell from his lips. It moved its stiff body side to side as if attempting to shake its head, instead taking its whole body with it. It shuffled to the podium and thumped a paralyzed appendage against the paper.

After, the doors burst open and blinded the man a second time. After they slammed shut, the man regained his sight to find himself and his wooden block just close enough to the podium to reach a pen which seemed to have appeared in the flash.

The paper mache creature was nowhere in sight. But there’s someone watching you still, his mind protested.

Range of motion and potential solutions limited, the man reached for the pen. Fearing what he might summon next, he hesitated. Soon, however the pen rested in his palm.

He turned it over in his hand and felt it was familiar. Your first fountain pen.

“Of course!” he shouted to no one in particular. “I remember this old thing!”

Removing the cap brought back the nostalgic smell of the blue, Japanese ink that stained his finger and his callous during his high school days. Some time in college, between all the papers and typed essays, he’d lost the thing. He remembered a vague midnight.

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He remembered lying in bed. He remembered turning and turning that sweet old starter pen between his fingers. He remembered he’d freshly refilled it just to write something new, something creative, something special.

Something more than the standard drivel you cranked out in your essays in those days…

Wistful thoughts aside, the man returned to the present. He stopped turning the fountain pen and merely stared at its dark body. Why was it there with him? The brief thought that this could potentially be a void for lost things entered his mind, but he pushed it aside.

“That wouldn’t make any sense,” he thought aloud. “This room is empty, and you’ve lost a lot more than this pen. Besides, you’re not lost.”

The man doubted his last conclusion some.

His next idea poisoned his outlook even more. What if he’d had the heart attack he’d fought and feared since he was a teenager, burning the midnight oil to complete his school work? His chest pained him slightly earlier that evening, after he’d spiked his tea with about a cup of whole milk. His in-denial side wrote it off as hypochondria because he drank the milk, but now he wondered. He wondered if this was death.

Drinking the milk had been easy. Midnight came for him, but he wanted to keep writing. English tea --black, frothing with liquid protein-- seemed like the perfect reprieve before he returned to-

Returned to what? What was I doing?

Writing. He’d been writing. The last thing he remembered was his blue lit screen in pitch darkness and the fading sound of lazy keys drifting into blackness.

Now everything was white.

But it didn’t all have to be white.

The man held the pen up to the bright light and turned it over. Gravity did its work. Thick blue ink rolled down the stained walls of the cartridge.

A laugh escaped his lips. The sound came as a mixture of hysteria and hope in the silence. Even if the bondage remained, he could reach the paper. He could make something blue in this heavenly white hell.

Though it was purgatorial in nature, he didn’t believe it was any better than the level below just below the white stone flooring. The level that made him sweat when he removed the pen’s cap.

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Stretching forward to write the simplest phrase, the man found that the podium deceived him. His wooden block impeded his arm from marking even a single dot with his pen. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and pearled down his face.

The acidic sensation began where the collar pressed into his neck once more, but now it felt like ten syringes working in unison to morph into a single blade. His muscles felt as if they sweated with his skin, oozing flame into his bones.

Only his collared neck stifled his screams.

As the man fought to mark the page blue, he imagined he’d write some description of choking. Maybe drowning or strangling. Gravity worked in favor of the ink choking some fictional person. Now all he needed was a bit more force, and he could-

The nib nearly stroked the page when the man’s face turned as blue as the velvet ink it would release. His fountain pen tumbled from his fingers, clattering on the cold, white stone.

His muscles gave up the battle to push forward, and the man released himself, gagging and dry heaving. Air seemed to corrode his lungs like a poison mucus, but he craved its presence despite the sensation.

Once again, the doors blinded him by opening. It returned. The paper mache creature approached again and hit the paper like a toddler throwing a tantrum. All the man could hear were his own labored breaths.

The unintellectual creature, clearly no Frankenstein’s monster, continued banging its arms against the podium. The podium fell, taking the creature down with it.

A mache monster does not fall evenly. Gravity does not will things as fairly as it does others, so it fell the opposite direction which it originally tipped. When its ballooned shoulder smacked against the stone, it contacted the nib of the fountain pen. A resounding POP! filled the room.

For the first time in its life, the monster made a sound instead of shaking. The air leaked after the shoulder’s surface broke, leading the man to assume that the other swollen balloon received a puncture wound as well. This balloon didn’t pop.

For a minute, the air squeaked out from the wound as if the monster was a euthanized cat, releasing its final breath. Like a cry of pain in death.

Although the man remembered his fountain pen as a strong one, blue ink bled a puddle onto the floor beneath the newspaper corpse.

Funny, he thought in a dot stained daze. That cartridge is too small to hold a puddle.

With blue, the blackness returned.

He gasped and gripped his throat as he startled awake again, without a lick of fluorescent light. The pain was gone, and air felt familiar again. He fumbled around to his left and found the switch for his lamp.

Yellow light cast warm shadows about the room.

On his right, he saw his laptop open and heard it purring, its screen black with sleep. Beside it, he saw his notebook with a familiar lump in it. His fountain pen.

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The man took in his surroundings to find that he was in the very bed he’d somehow thought he’d lost his pen in. The time wasn’t years later as it was in the white room but in the present, in his college dorm. Life came flooding back to him like a bad dream, while his nightmare drifted away from him as all his dreams did. Soon, consciousness flashed all but the message of the dream away.

He closed his laptop and picked up his notebook. The man sighed in relief when he gripped his old fountain friend again. Its weight felt correct, freshly filled with the velvet blue ink.

The man wrote ribbons, and his laptop watched until its ever present hum died with its battery.

Gravity led the ink to the page, without block and without bond, and he wrote something new, something creative, something special.

To All Those Who Appreciate Horror and May Wish to Write Something New, Something Creative, Something Special:

I do not have an incredible amount of experience and probably left plenty out of my arguments. However, one thing that cannot be denied is my love for this genre, even if my knowledge needs building. The whole point of my writing this mass rant is because I love this genre. Scary stories hold more value than some realize.

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Now, I feel as if I’m seeing constant reiterations of the same old plot with different people acting, without a thought to the value behind the story. The moral of the story can’t be “Don’t go out to the lake with your friends, or you’ll die.” Originally, scary stories were told with morals in mind.

I concede that we live in an age that constantly shifts its morality quite quickly. That does not stop me from the belief that the horror genre should be altered to return to its original purpose. Changes in morality do not warrant a sacrifice of its enforcement.

We must strive to reinvent cautionary tales for new ages, but we must do so in a manner which is both relevant and suitable to ourselves.

Thoughts on How & Why to Make Tedious Tea...

When I come home at the end of the day, the first thing I do is place the kettle on the stove so I may eventually have a nice, steaming cup of tea.

Being a member of a highly convenience oriented generation, I assume that the first question will be, "Why not just heat it up in the microwave?"

Each time I place the teakettle on, I consider this scenario. For the longest time, the answer to that question seemed quite simple. I imagined I'd say, "Because the tea tastes better if you heat up the water on the stove."

Then I imagined whoever asked would inquire into precisely why that is, and, for the longest time, I could not think of a legitimate answer to that question. If I'd answered it then, I'd have used that simple answer. I know that the answer is hard to understand because even I am not sure why the method of heating water would affect the flavor of tea, or if I would even know the difference if I was ignorant to the method of preparation.

That made me realize, should I ever face this line of questioning, I had to prepare a better answer. Here, I shall present my findings, but, first, I would like to stress the time consuming process of preparing tea in this manner.

To prepare tea on the stove, one clearly must have a teakettle or another water heating vessel. I recommend buying a red kettle which whistles because its red will deepen to scarlet just before it shrieks, signaling that one may now begin to prepare a cup and tea leaves.

Going back a few steps, one must fill the teakettle to just below the spout. Then one must place it on a stove burner turned no higher than just below medium, or one may scorch the metal.

Following this, I suggest finding something to do for about thirty minutes or until the teakettle whistles. Make sure to stay close by to the teakettle, so the sound is within earshot. If the teakettle is not a whistler, don't lose track of time and forget to check on it. It shall be done heating when steam forms a consistent funnel out the spout.

Once this step is complete, it is time to get the tea bag or loose leaf tea in order to prepare. One benefit of preparing tea in this manner is that, if one is a fan of more potent tea, one may drop the tea bag into the cup before one pours the water. If one does not want a strong cup with a biting finish, just plop the tea bag in on top.

Next, to make sure the color and flavor leak out of the teabag to one's preference, take the string of the teabag --a small spoon for bags without a string-- and gently prod the teabag in the water. Once again, for a stronger cup, do this more or press into the bag with a spoon. For a milder cup, don't overdo it.

Finally, let the tea cool for ten to twenty minutes before drinking, depending on the water temperature.

Now that I've finished explaining the true tedium which occurs when making tea in this manner, I may proceed to my far shorter point.

I realized three things when I wrote this piece. First, I may have just explained a process which my audience already understands. Secondly, anyone who simply does not care for tea or for me may wish I would just shut up about how to make tea already. Maybe both. Despite that, the third thing I realized is this:

We must all adopt a tedious process in our lives which delivers warm satisfaction, as this process of making tea does for me. In an age where we have answers literally at our fingertips and corporation chains on every corner, I predict we shall lose our patience and, more importantly, the satisfaction which stems from the simple pleasure derived from finishing a tedious task.

Therefore, I shall never wish for a life without tedium, for I shall find no relief in such a life. I hope that others shall seek out similar relief, for it compares to nothing I know.

I shall finish with a message to my audience. Everybody needs their own cup of tea to distract them and ease the weights on their shoulders. So go out already, make one, and make it as tedious as it needs to be.

Because, the more one invests in something, the more satisfactory he or she may find it.

Image Citation:

• "Cup of Tea." N.p., n.d. Web. <https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibNJFDR3UhiV-V62MsStsDjgl4Yi0YCXPKO5ZADrfnazOn0pBJTX_wouiZfJDwNHJYaQGsazKfOZhSjhQHqJp_lVonRTs8DveYGPje03Fz2f5D7hnGgFXaUGIo1pgTb-7UPEhUQJhyphenhyphen2hM/s1600/1.jpg>.

Evaluation of My Reading Life

1. My reading goal for this school year was thirty five books. I read twenty one total books. There are three primary reasons that I believe that I did not achieve my goal.

The first reason is that I have a bad habit of starting books and losing interest. My total for abandoned books from the first semester is eight, and I abandoned one during the second semester. I intend to continue to cut down on the amount of books which I give up on because I do not feel that this reflects a healthy reading life. Part of one way I'll do this is to change my selection process slightly. Instead of merely reading the back cover of books the second semester, I read the first view pages of a book to ensure that I liked the writing style as well as the premise. By being more carefully selective, I may not abandon so many novels.

The second reason that I did not reach my goal is that I did not read as often as I should have initially. Instead of reading varying portions of a novel every day, I developed another bad habit of scattering my reading to the weekend where I had time to read a larger chunk of the novel all at once. Now, I still read larger pieces of the novel on the weekend, but I also make time to read at least a chapter a day, if I can.

The third reason is that I didn't focus enough on maintaining a plan or a schedule in order to ensure that I met my goal. I feel as if, when I set a goal of books to read over the summer, I will plan out what I'm going to read and how often. I intend to increase my reading productivity in this way.

2. Books I Read:

1. The Catcher in the Rye
2. Into the Wild
3. Heyday (abandoned)
4. Beowolf
5. Fault
6. Misery
7. A Reporter's Life (abandoned)
8. The Lovely Bones
9. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies
10. Flowers In The Attic
11. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime
12. A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court (abandoned)
13. Petals On The Wind (abandoned)
14. Into Thin Air (abandoned)
15. Game of Thrones (abandoned)
16. The Glass Menagerie
17. Oedipus the King
18. Skipping Christmas
19. Great Expectations (abandoned)
20. A Christmas Carol
21. Chimes (abandoned)
22. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
23. Flying For Her Country 
24. The Martian 
25. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy 
26. Frankenstein
27. The Shining
28.  One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (abandoned)
29. 11/22/63
30. The Rose That Grew From Concrete

3. The novel which I enjoyed most was probably 11/22/63 by Stephen King. I enjoyed this more than the others because I feel it achieved more simultaneously throughout the novel. For instance, this begins as a science fiction novel, drawing in fans of that genre. (particularly time travel fans) It expands into King's forte when it begins to reference his other novel, IT, when the protagonist visits the town of Derry, Maine. Following a brief entrance into the horror genre, the novel actually becomes more pleasant as the protagonist moves to Texas with a looming feeling of destiny and delicacy of the fabric of time in the air. King makes the reader want the protagonist to succeed in saving President Kennedy while constantly planting seeds of doubt regarding a positive outcome throughout the novel. This provides a well-paced, well-rounded story that leaves the reader wanting more.

4. The hardest book I read this school year had to be Oedipus the King, if I'm being totally honest. The reason for this is because of the time in which the play was written. Anything written before a certain time period makes me feel like such a slow reader, and my brain tends to feel stretched out and tired upon completion. Books like this are the classic "classics", and reflecting upon this one made me realize that I must read more books in this style. I expect that this is the next step in advancing my reading level and stamina.

5. My greatest area of strength as a reader is probably my stamina to continuously read without losing enjoyment. Some readers seem to want to read a certain amount in one sitting and stop. I, however, cannot seem to find a good stopping point once I get caught up in a novel. In the back of my mind, I'll think things such as water or bathroom but won't get up until I have to. Sometimes, I'll decide on my stopping point, but I'll try to scan the first sentence of the next part, which leads me to continue reading. I get so caught up that I just can't stop once I'm started.

6. Now, I'll expand on my last statement from the previous paragraph. Getting started. Sometimes, it takes too much to pull me into a book. I keep thinking that I'll like the book if I can just get through the first fifty to one hundred pages. My weakness is forcing myself to get to that point where I'm caught up. I suspect this is why I abandoned so many books the first semester. I have a whole library of books in my head that I'd like to read, so, if a book doesn't interest me, I'm constantly considering what I could be reading instead. Honestly, my favorite type of book has to pull me in from the first sentence because, otherwise, I have trouble finding a source of focus. (which is ironic, considering what I listed as my strength)

7. Honestly, I liked the reading conferences and found them helpful. I felt accountable because it made me aim to achieve higher level discussion through consistent reading. Not to mention, it made me less likely to abandon a book because I knew that I'd receive questioning over why I did so. If I'm going to feel cross examined over a book, I want it to be because of what I did read and not what I didn't.

That being said, if you had done them more often, I may have felt more obligated to cut back on the number of books I chose to abandon. (although I'm still accountable for those decisions)

8. I've never really been a part of a "reading community" before this school year. My reading always seemed like something private that I left the outside world out of. Although I appreciated the privacy, joining a community this year showed me that social reading is also something I may appreciate.

For instance, reading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close was my favorite book assignment of the school year. I learned that having a book club of sorts actually deepened my understanding of the novel and allowed me to have the same higher level discussion that I referenced in number seven. When the groups gathered to discuss the methods used to write the book, I also discovered how insightful that my peers truly were. Whenever one of us noticed a detail that another noticed, we always dissected it to figure out what it could mean. The pictures throughout the novel, for instance, promoted many ideas that we shared. I feel as if this small circle benefited me in that I learned  how to better express my opinions over a piece of literature and share experiencing a book alongside others.

9. A Slice of Imagery:

 

Books Finished This Semester as of 5/19/16:

Can You?

We've all heard it at one time or another. That simple --sometimes entertaining-- exchange between teacher and student:

"Can I use te restroom?" the student will ask.

To which the teacher is bound to reply, "I don't know. Can you?"

This always seemed correct to me. Frankly, similar incidents made me believe that the only proper method of communication used proper grammar as well.

Until I gained a teacher this past semester, who presented a new take on the scenario, showing a potential follow-up reply from a fictional student:

"Yes. I might add that colloquial irregularities occur frequently in any language. Since you and the rest of our present company understood perfectly my intended meaning, being particular about the distinction between 'can' and 'may' is purely pedantic and arguably pretentious."

Although such a response is not one I would condone, it got me thinking. Why are we so quick to correct the colloquialisms or "slang" of others? After all, many tend to be well understood when employing this sort of language as their primary means of communication. Still, many claim that such terms make writers sound unsophisticated and incomprehensible.

If this is truly the case, however, how can we account for the simplest of phrases, "a lot?"

According to another teacher of mine, the reason we are not to use "a lot" in our writing is that it is, in fact, a lesser known slang term. This, in modern times, may refer to a parking lot of cars, but, assuming its origin to be older, "a lot" may have meant a literal lot of cows or other livestock.

On one hand, I must concede that using this phrase in one's writing does diminish the sophistication. On another, I refuse to concede that those who correct colloquialisms and slang fully understand the effects it has on communication.

For instance, I may briefly refer to an analytical strategy learned in my English class. Looking at an author's choice of language in a speech will help the reader understand what class of audience received the address. If the writer speaks with a large and sophisticated diction, it is clear that they are speaking to individuals of guaranteed equal or higher education. If they speak using simplistic diction, the reader may perceive that the audience needs such word choice to grasp the meaning of the speaker.

This correlates to my previous point because it shows that the scenario dictates communication above all else. While it may not sound acceptable to use colloquialisms or slang in our speech patterns, it actually may be essential --not only to the understanding of the audience-- but also to the understanding of speakers and writers as they learn language.

Here, I return to "a lot." As an elementary school student, I knew that my teacher preferred we attempt to use other phrases. Like my classmates, I couldn't think of other ways to express this without using this phrase, for my vocabulary had yet to advance beyond that level. "A lot" equaled acceptable at that particular period. Otherwise, we ran the chance of confusion over vocabulary, potentially backfiring by stunting our rhetorical growth. Middle school did come, naturally bringing a growth of language with it. Now that we grasped higher level vocabulary, my new teacher banned "a lot" from usage in our writing because he knew we could now sound more sophisticated with effort.

That is primarily why I believe it wrong to correct use of colloquialisms and slang language. I do not agree that either hold an active place in advanced communication or writing, but they are generally so widely understood that discouragement of their practice would essentially create a gap in learning. If one expects to communicate effectively, they must first explore unsophisticated methods in order to later advance to higher level methods. In addition, again in the case of the audience, one is not communicating effectively if one does not grasp simpler colloquialisms and slang that occupy the speech patterns of those they wish to reach.

Therefore, effective communication is only truly understood when one has first understood both ends of the sophistication spectrum of language and learned how to apply them in daily life. Nitpicking over "can" and "may" in everyday speech is just one example of an irrelevant criticism. Correcting a person's usage of commonplace tongue may not only prevent true understanding when communicating, but such criticism quickly turns others against the speaker and renders his or her point immediately less effective.

In conclusion, can one accept colloquialism as a form of effective communication and learning? Excuse me, actually. May one accept colloquialism as a form of effective communication and learning? Only time shall tell...

Mothers Elect to "C" Section

Modern medicine leaves soon-to-be mothers with one major decision:

How will she give birth?

There was once a time in history where that question had a single answer, but this was not always the safest answer, as is the case with even some of today’s methods.

In America, society is primarily fueled by a right to choose, leading to an expansion of the methods of birth. Mothers nowadays find that they wish to know all of their options regarding their health and the health of their unborn child. As a result, 29% of American births are considered “alternative.” However, these options --water births, home delivery, lotus births--, all focus on the aspects of natural delivery. It stands to question why alternatives methods of birth have not developed on the surgical front. Mothers may not always make the same decisions, but they do share a common interest:

The health of their baby and comfort in the delivery room.

Nine and a half months ago, first time mother, twenty two year old Anita Baker, and fourth time mother, thirty nine year old Lisa Campbell, developed a mutual friendship within their lamaze class. The class was made up of a variety of mothers, some wanting forms of natural delivery, others wanting pitocin and epidural, and some who elected Caesarean sections. Despite this, all found unity in their shared want of knowledge should they have to deliver their baby naturally.

However, Baker and Campbell discovered a common interest that created disunity between themselves and the other mothers. Although both elected to receive Caesarean sections, they share the hope they may pioneer a new option for women on this front. One that, in their eyes, makes the Caesarean section as magical as any natural birth and increases the safety their child in the moments following delivery.

“It was Lisa got me stuck and stubborn as can be on this,” Baker told us. “I was torn between gettin’ all messed up down there because of the baby and all, but I didn’t want to miss seein’ my kid come outta my body, you know? The other moms think we’re insane, and so do our baby daddies, but I just kinda shrug ‘em off. I mean, it’s my body. What can they do about it, you know?”

Typically, hospital procedure for the performance of the Caesarean section involves putting some sort of paper blinder just above the mother’s stomach so she cannot see the procedure as well as not feel it. Baker and Campbell want to be the first mothers to make this an optional feature of the procedure.

“I just don’t see what the point is!” said Campbell. “Women who push their babies out get to see it happen! Some even get a little mirror to see the head! Why can’t I see my baby slide out just because it happens to be sliding out of my abdomen?”

A valid notion. 31.8% of births in America today occur through Caesarean section, meaning 1.3 million births are a result of this procedure. That also means that 31.8% of mothers are missing out on that moment where they see their child breath its first lungful of air to create its first crackling cry. However, recent discoveries reveal that this is not just stealing the magic of the moment but heightening the danger of an otherwise generally safe surgery.

While mothers want to reach out for their child and soothe it’s small red face with the sight of her own, the baby receives no such soothing sight. Instead, its first breath is choked with fear at the sight of the masked surgeons and the cold teal barrier that blocks his or her first view of the vessel of warmth and comfort he or she has known for nine months.

Dr. Ken Matheson, a renowned Canadian obstetrician with a minor in Psychology, reports these findings on this phenomenon in The Physical and Mental Health of Children medical journal:

“I believe that children are quite traumatized when thrust out of the womb so abruptly after excision from the mother. Once, during a dual delivery I took over, the first of the twins, Jimmy, came naturally without complications. His breach brother, Tommy, was a different story. We rushed the mother to surgery, administered the drugs and set up the room, including the blinder. Everything went fine from there until we got the baby out. His little eyes and hands began searching for his mother and his warmth immediately, but he only found foreign air. His first breath was a little cough, and little Tommy didn’t breath again for over a minute. Now the poor kid has severe asthma, and I blame myself. I ask, was it worth it to unite the brothers, if Tommy can’t even play with Jimmy now? I just wish the kid got to see his mother’s face. Maybe then I’d be happy to see him up and walking now.”

This sort of incident is precisely what Baker and Campbell say they’d hope to avoid.

“Why should I have to deliver my baby naturally to feel a connection and protect her?” Campbell asked her doctor after her last ultrasound. “I should be able to have it both ways. It’s a double standard, and it’s just not fair.”

Many surgeons and obstetricians disregarded the mothers in their wishes and arguments, merely waving it off as a foolish notion. The primary contention towards this new method is that the low risk of the coined “barrier-sections” versus that of so-called high risk “open-sections” is not worth the chance. Of course, these medical professionals are the kind that deny responsibility when the one in every ten Caesarean births ends in the death of the child as a result of the aforementioned phenomenon. Studies like Matheson’s prove that this statistic is virtually nonexistent when Caesarean deliveries occurred without a blinding teal barrier.

“Although I’ve only performed this procedure a handful of times,” said Matheson. “I’ve never experienced complications with the welfare of the child during a barrier free birth.”

Others, a part of the national organization Mothers for Natural & Alternative Birth (MNAB), report that a natural birth lowers the chances of this phenomenon as well, attempting to support their claims that elective Caesareans are unnecessary freedoms. While they focus primarily to prove the “risks” at hand for the mother, they also disregard aspects of Matheson’s study that hurt their credibility.

For instance, studies in the report show that the time elapsed between a delivery from the lower extremities of a woman to when the child views the mother ranges from two to five minutes. This is typically the same delay that occurs during a barrier-section. Meanwhile, a child’s view of his or her mother upon withdrawal from the abdominal region (in absence of the obscuring barrier) is practically immediate. In fact, children born naturally are 45% more likely to suffer from the phenomenon than children born as a result of a barrier free Caesarean section.

These facts influenced the decisions of mothers, Baker and Campbell, as it should all mothers. Arguments and recommendations from their regular doctors did not sway them.

As their due date approached, Baker and Campbell pursued their ambition, enlisting the services of Dr. Matheson to deliver their babies.

“I was ecstatic to hear that two mothers appreciated my research report as much as I did,” Matheson explains. “I only wish more mothers would consider the safety of their child as much as this pair.”

“You know, Lisa’s husband was behind her and all, but mine still says I’m a lunatic,” joked Baker seven months later. “He says he ain’t even gonna be in the room if he can see it all. Like, the other day, Jamie said he’d rather go blind than see me go under the knife with a bunch of doctors rootin’ around up inside me.”

Her Caesarean section, free of the teal blinder, came the next day. Dr. Matheson went into surgery with full confidence that everything would run smoothly. Outside the surgery room, where Campbell waited beside Baker’s husband (who refused to speak to us), she made this comment:

“Am I jealous that Anita gets to go first? Absolutely. But her baby’s a month ahead of mine. That’s just the way nature goes, and I have to embrace nature as it is.”

Who could argue nature? More importantly, who could deny nature when it comes in the form of a safe, warm, and caring surgical procedure?

Two days later, after receiving assurance that Baker and her new son recovered well, we returned to interview her from her hospital bed about her magical experience.

“I stand by my decision,” Baker said. “But I don’t wanna go into much detail. I saw Dr. Matheson go in for the first cut, and, even though I couldn’t feel nothin’ from all them drugs, I nearly was squeezin’ my eyes shut. I remembered then what Lisa and I were talkin’ about, and a few minutes later, I saw little Jamie Jr. slidin' on out of me, his little body still attached to that little cord and all bloody! I was thinkin’ somethin’ was wrong until I swear, his little head turned to look at me! It was all so excitin’ and magical, especially with those drugs that got me a little bit loopy!”

Meanwhile, Campbell awaits her delivery day and will say only one thing.

“If the blood and scar are as magical as Anita’s, I don’t care how drugged up I am, as long as I can see it all.”

When asked if either intended to go a step further in the future and view the surgery without the “loopy” drugs, neither of the pioneering mothers had a personal response prepared.

Campbell did provide a response which she directed at other mothers, however:

"It doesn't matter what you want done to your body," she said. "What matters is our freedom of choice over our bodies, no matter if we want to watch our surgery or feel it or both."

She truly puts it best. A woman's right to elect a c-section isn't enough in our age, for women deserve choice. If choice must come as picking and choosing surgical details, so be it. Especially when the easily accessible facts prove that this is the best method of safe delivery for both mother and baby.

"I'm just happy that we're moving towards a future where a door is open for women to have greater control over their bodies," said Matheson. "Women understand the risk that comes with the choice. The chances that the risk will pan out are so low that continued restriction over choice is practically moot."

Even more moot is informing mothers of the risk that comes with increased surgical independence. Modern technique is so refined that any argument of "decreased bodily safety" not only steals a woman's medical autonomy but also snatches away those little moments of magic that preserve the safety of the newborn. MNAB maintains that mothers are put at risk by multiple surgeries, but they (unlike Matheson) are unable to prove their theories, making their argument obsolete.

If any medical professionals still remain unconvinced, they do not have to agree with anything previously argued to see the potential. Surgeries that are specialized or considered "higher risk" cost patients and insurance companies more than average births and surgeries. Therefore, increasing surgical independence of mothers increases the  surgeon's income, making this a mutually beneficial option for all parties involved. (plus, Caesareans --unlike natural births-- can be scheduled around an obstetrician’s family vacations and out of work activities, an added bonus for their personal lives)

So what are doctors waiting for? More pioneers like Campbell, Baker, and Matheson. Until more mothers and doctors join this worthy cause to protect our children, we are exponentially limiting ourselves to unhealthy hospital environments and lost financial opportunities.

In the meantime, mothers will continue to risk choosing the wrong answer when faced with that single decision:

How will she give birth?

Literature Rex

I sat, a book clutched in my hands and the words of Sophocles swelling to occupy my mind.

"Let it break! Let everything break! I must-"

Then the swell broke. Indeed, everything Oedipus said broke, and the words of AP Literature students swelled into my mind instead.

"Did you get caught up in the Aeneid?"

"Girl!" one of the seniors shrilly shrieked. "You know I don't got time for that! I got to work so I can get to college!"

Although I refocused my eyes to the paper words, my ears lingered on the bombastic student voices that battled the voices of the chorus that interpreted Oedipus' fate.

Paper words hopped up to my eyes, but vocal words pried into my very concentration. I began to see in this instance  that most readers my age did not respect the activity of reading. The readers who interrupted me did not concern themselves with content over task. Even then, when assigned to the Aeneid, they developed a great variety of excuses to avoid task! Even preparing for college became an excuse, despite the fact that understanding literature is an integral skill for the rigor of academia that college presents!

David Denby addresses a similar issue in his article Do Teens Read Seriously Anymore?, listing a number of distractions and excuses such as "School, homework, sports, jobs, clothes, parents, brothers, sisters, half brothers, half sisters, friendships, love affairs, hanging out, music, and, most of all, screens..." Here, he acknowledges that teens lead busy lives and are far too wrapped up in being sociable and in touch with technology. I agree with his claim that the appeal of technology has subsumed the appeal of literature in our modern and increasingly digital age. Denby proceeds to assert that a major issue is that teenagers and adults alike crave "personal gratification provided by constant feedback" and "rueful self-acknowledgement", supposedly factors in an indifference to literature. This ties into his argument about technology in his claim that "Many of us are looking at screens all the time too. Even the book lovers..."

I assert that this is where Denby was too quick in his judgment. He gives the reader that age-old argument that technology threatens to make literature obsolete because it overwhelms our culture in its presence. It is not the presence of technology, however, but the presentation. The far-reaching capabilities of technology, if presented properly, can enhance literature in our culture.

95% of teenagers between 12 and 17 years old use social media to interact, according to the Pew Research Center. If an influential figure in teen culture presented this medium in a way that promoted reading and literary discussion, technological appeal may cease to subsume literary appeal and instead promote it.

Now, I return to Denby's argument that seems to set literature and technology against one another, as if the two must clash. During his reference to his observation that even book lovers cannot escape the call of the screen, he briefly mentions "listening to an audio book." He is wrong to criticize this, for literature does not lose value merely because it shifts platforms. In fact, before the existence of literature as we know it, the platform was word of mouth. Stories passed through the lips of generations before they were graced in ink. When print became the growing dominant platform, society embraced this innovation and morphed simple fables and anecdotes into the rhetorical brilliance we aim to keep in high regard today. If the mere discovery of the printed word led us to feel touched by literature worldwide, we must allow literature to survive this age by taking advantage of the platforms available within it. Millions of minds drift across social media every minute, touched and impressed upon by what they view there. If literature were more widely promoted to have value in a way teenagers will understand, they will learn to value words as much as they do technology, as a result of technology.

Of course, Denby is correct to claim that, currently, technology does hinder the aforementioned aim, but he also injures what could be his own vision with his directly oppositional point of view. Technology, though misused, has the potential to be the next unknown and innovative frontier of literature. "Literature will survive too, somehow." But only if we refrain from Denby's train of thought, that divides two prominent platforms --one dying and one growing-- instead of allowing them to embrace.

Shall we ever see what Denby referred to as the "Golden Age of Teen Reading?" Shall the task driven excuses of the majority cease to engulf the content driven voices of Oedipus' chorus?

Shall the words of Sophocles and his king be known on a new platform, or shall technology be as ignorant and tortured as Oedipus himself?

"Let it break! Let everything break! I must-"

I must find solace in my request that we do not blind ourselves with dedication to the story of paper we've always seemed to know and proceed to blind ourselves again with confusion towards the story of unresolved ends we've only just discovered.

Citations:

• Sophocles, Stephen Berg, and Diskin Clay. Oedipus the King. New York: Oxford UP, 1978. N. pag. Print.
• Denby, David. "Do Teens Read Seriously Anymore?" The New Yorker(2016): n. pag. Web. 11 Apr. 2016.
• "Teen Fact Sheet." Pewinternet.org. Pew Research Center, n.d. Web. 11 Apr. 2016.
• "Oedipus Rex." Flickr.com. N.p., n.d. Web. 11 Apr. 2016.

The World of the Barbie

Every little girl in the United States is at one time or another exposed to an image that influences what they think of themselves. One of the more common images available to young children in our society is the Barbie doll. For years, there have been psychology reports that turned into news stories about how bad Barbie dolls are for a girl's image of herself.

Recently, the media has taken note of the highly publicized efforts of the Mattel company to vary the image of the Barbie doll. They now offer "tall, curvy and petite" versions of Barbie. Not to mention, they now come in seven skin tones with twenty two eye colors and twenty four hairstyles.

"Playtime could broaden kids' perspectives and ideas of what is 'good' when it comes to body image, as new, diverse toys come onto the market," a sociologist reports to livescience.com.

However, I believe that the company's products are contradictory to their efforts. They have good intention, but they've missed the mark somewhat in their final results. I concede that the dolls are a step in the proper direction, but they still fail to produce a truly healthy body image. (with the exception of "curvy Barbie", whose body is the closest to looking like a real woman that I've seen)

The unhealthiness of the dolls still lies in their excessive makeup use and their continued impossible waistlines, just as it did with the under diversified Barbie doll. In fact, in the picture below, three of the four dolls sport waists that are likely modeled after the sixteen inch original. Although, one is questionably smaller.

These body images do not relflect the average American woman, and, therefore, they do not present healthy reality to children. A short time ago, the Huffington Post published a report titled Barbie Would Be Pretty Odd Looking in Real Life to compare the measurements of a Barbie doll to a real woman, revealing that some of the doll's measurements were under half that of the American woman. Once again, with the exception of "curvy Barbie," Mattel has hardly curtailed the design that influences some young girls to develop eating disorders in later life. If anything, these dolls are a failed attempt to put the toy company into a better light in the public.

Barbie dolls may be moving in the right direction, but they still appear in the form of unrealistic and unhealthy fantasies. While I encourage this sort of intention and effort, I hardly think that this progress is enough. Mattel needs to respect their consumers through a product that will reflect their consumers. Otherwise, the company is virtually disregarding its own future and that of the girls who fall under their influence.

Citations:

• Geggel, By Laura. "Toys Like Me: Why Diversity in Barbie Dolls and Legos Matters." LiveScience. TechMedia Network, 05 Feb. 2016. Web. 14 Mar. 2016. <http://www.livescience.com/53617-why-barbie-doll-lego-diversity-matters.html>.
• Gray, Emma. "Barbie Body Would Be Pretty Odd-Looking In Real Life(INFOGRAPHIC)." The Huffington Post. TheHuffingtonPost.com, n.d. Web. 14 Mar. 2016. <http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/04/10/barbie-body-real-life-infographic_n_3057690.html>.