Mouseskin in the Mafia

               Once upon a time, there lived a wealthy and feared mafia boss by the name of Marco De Luca.  This don controlled all of East Jersey with no competition and fierce loyalty from his family. Among his many henchmen were three women who had been great assets to his career, and these were his underbosses. Though they were only in their twenties, these three were the most cunning, ruthless, and street-smart allies the don had. The oldest at age twenty-seven was Francesca, who had a niche for twisting the minds of men. Then came Ludovica, age twenty-five, who had more battle scars than John McClane. Last, but certainly not least, was Rosabella. Rosabella was only twenty-one years old, but Marco favored her above the others because beneath her seemingly fragile beauty lay the strength and wit of ten tenacious tigers.

                 Over the years, Marco had begun to fear for his mortality and the loss of leadership that was bound to it. He faced the inevitable and decided he must choose someone worthy to take up the business after his death. In search of a successor, Marco turned to Francesca, Ludovica, and Rosabella.  To test their loyalty, Marco asked each of them who they would “take out” for the De Luca name. Francesca proceeded to narrate and elaborate plan to assassinate the governor of New Jersey in which she included several gallons of champagne, a small canoe, and a round of Candy Land. Quite impressed with her resourcefulness and audacity, Marco took her profession of loyalty into consideration. Ludovica took it one step further and announced that her devotion would lead her to exterminate the president using only a few feet of wire and her bare hands. This statement caught the attention of the don, and he knew that his faith was justified. When the time had come to hear Rosabella’s answer, Marco could barely contain his excitement. This is only a figure of speech, of course, because nothing would make the boss come close to showing such an emotion. All the same, he waited in anticipation to hear the response from his favorite underboss. Rosabella simply replied that she would be willing to shoot her fiancé, Rosario Mouseskin,

for the sake of her boss.

                Marco, infuriated and wounded by such an insignificant vow of loyalty, ordered one of his soldiers to “take care” of Rosabella. A seventeen-year-old boy named Bonario was chosen for the job. However, Bonario had taken a liking to Rosabella when he entered the family, and he could not bring himself to finish the job. Instead, he took her to the outskirts of the De Luca’s territory and urged her to run to the West side of Jersey, which was Salvatore turf.

                Rosabella had to make a living, and life in the mafia was all she knew. Therefore, she cut all ties with the De Lucas and her loved ones, and she pledged herself to the Salvatore family. As a soldier, Rosabella had the lowest jobs doing most of the dirty work. She didn’t mind though. She was good at it, and she knew that if it wasn’t for Bonario, she would be in a ditch somewhere. A few years passed, and Rosabella made her way up the ranks both socially and romantically. At the age of twenty-five, she had become the wife and Consigliere to Antonio Salvatore, the family boss.

                One night, Antonio asked Rosabella about her past. After listening to his beloved wife recount her tale, Antonio felt a burning resolve to get revenge on Marco De Luca for what he had put Rosabella through. This revenge was manifested in the assassination of Mrs. De Luca, who had been married to Marco for thirty-seven long years. Heartbroken, Marco declared war on the Salvatore family.  For forty days and forty nights, the two powers slaughtered each other in every imaginable way. On the last day, Marco and Rosabella came face to face. At once, Marco understood the motive behind the death of his wife, and he confronted Rosabella claiming that never would he have stooped so low as to take the life of someone so precious to her. As he uttered those words, a realization came to him. What Rosabella had vowed to do in his name, the very thing he cast her out for suggesting, was the single hardest action he could imagine. In the fleeting moment that he hesitated in comprehension, Marco was gunned down by a Salvatore soldier.

Our Year in Africa

     

      We set out to gather precious emeralds for our king. Reign, Kennedi, Lucy, and I weren't quite sure just how the natives would respond to our arrival in their lands, so as soon as our feet touched ground we laid down the law (to discourage any funny business). Though we weren't violent, my crew and I established a basic pyramid of authority with the villagers. Because we had been sent directly from his majesty, we were the top authority.

      All was well in the first month. Our firm but peaceful drive proved successful when we gained one ton of emeralds from the motivated natives. Because of their hard work and fruitful labor, Reign convinced us to give the Africans a break over the following month. Lucy isn't one for loosening the reigns in her plan for emerald extraction, but after I spoke with her, she came around. 

      Then, to Lucy's delight, the third month arrived. She planned to work the villagers till they dropped in order to turn a profit. Reign feared that hostility would lead to problems further down the road, but seeing the need to acquire more emeralds, I explained to her that our methods were necessary for our mission. Still disapproving, but silently now, Reign allowed Kennedi to take the plan into her own hands. When Kennedi gets her mind set on a task, her commitment is fierce. I would say it's almost frightening. You see, Kennedi doesn't come off strong. In fact she's quite sweet, which is why the villagers originally took to her and allowed her to call the shots. However, if she notices any sign of lethargy, disdain, or apathy towards a project, she does not hesitate to physically overcome such behavior. This sets in a fear and respect like no other.
      We allowed Kennedi to push the villagers for another month or two because of the abundant gems  they produced, but finally Reign decided she could not let the Africans go through such labor another month. Thus, we granted them one more well earned break. I'd like to report that in this month, there was nothing but sunshine and cheer, but sadly the weather turned against us. A typhoon had struck, and a quarter of our profits was washed away with the menacing waves. It was a crushing blow to our mission, and Lucy would never let herself be caught ill-prepared afterwards. At once, she plotted the rest of our course of action in Africa, and this time she would allow no breaks.
      For the remainder of the year, Kennedi endlessly worked the natives through rain or shine. At times, it seemed she enjoyed her role all too much. I was not the only one who took notice of this, however. Reign often spoke out against the cruelty towards the Africans, and I suspect she might have been behind one of their revolts in the later months. I have a way of keeping peace between my crew mates though, so the opposition was blunt and strong at times, but I managed to end any squabbles before they began. If I said we were ready to return home, that would be an understatement. Hostility within our ranks and throughout the village had grown with every push we gave the Africans. In the final days of our mission, we hauled four tons of emeralds onto our ship. It was a haul fit for our good king, and no matter what terms we departed on, it is safe to say that our journey was a success.

(*personalities and actions a according to them are purely fiction)

Whether the Weather Matters

   

     Weather, like many things in literature, can be packed with symbolism. But at times, it is trickier to figure out than other disputed symbols. Thomas C. Foster has shown us that rain can have more than one meaning in a story, which makes it crucial to pinpoint the one that the author intended to use. For instance, rain can cleanse and ring new life, but it can also cause sickness and death.
    I once read a story in which a man was cast from his ship into the ocean during a massive storm. Seeking refuge, he came across a large manor on an otherwise deserted island, and he was invited in by the butler. All the while, it was raining. Now the most immediate use of this rain was to set an eerie mood for the reader. But because the man later discovers that the owner of the manor plans to hunt down any guests and kill them, eventually sealing his fate by falling to the mercy of his own dogs, I believe that there is more to this rain than meets the eye. It could be a symbol of the foreboding deaths in the novel. he death of the protagonist's ship mates could've been one event that the rain was emphasizing, or possibly the oncoming death of the manor owner.
       Then again, this weather could have a completely different meaning than originally expected. Maybe it is the healing type of rain, the kind that brings new starts. You see, from the death of the deranged, human hunting rich man, his evil ways were expunged, and our hero is free of the terror that was placed upon him. The rain could mean either of these things, or perhaps both. But I may never know, for I did not write the tale. I do know, however, that rain is very versatile in story writing , and the same goes for most types of weather.
      I got to thinking about snow because it can also be versatile. It can be pure, deadly, and disgusting. I recall reading the first Septimus Heap novel, "Magyk". It begins with a man trudging through a blizzard, struggling to make it back to where he lives, when he comes across a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths laying in the snow.In this particular example, the snow was for purity. The man found a pure, innocent child in the pure, white snow. However, that is but one side of the uses of snow. Another differing example is found in "The Lord of the Rings, The fellowship of the Ring". The bold party is attempting to make their way across the mountain side, when they are hit by a terrible snow storm. On the wind, they believe they hear a voice beckoning the snow to surround them and freeze them to death. In this case, the snow was used for it's deathly capabilities. The poor hobbits almost became icicles!
       With the help of Foster, I was able to guess at, if not determine the underlying meaning of weather when used in these three stories. The most significant thought that I took away from this chapter was the fact that a single storm could have various meanings for different authors. We grow up with the knowledge of rain, sunshine, snow, etc., but how we interpret each occurrence in our lives has a huge impact on what every one of us thinks about those natural events. It's all reflected in the stories we tell, and the connotations we inflict upon them. You just have to be able to look deeper when an author writes about a light shower or a freezing burst of wind. It may tell you all you need to know.

Photo Source:
http://etinspires.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/storms.jpg

Chapter 8: A Familiar Classic

                                       

        We’re always improving on previous stories, like Foster says over and over. In a way, he’s doing the same. He takes from his earlier chapters and adds on to them to help us readers understand everything he has us looking for in novels. So why would writers choose fairy tales to build off of fairy tales rather than the old sacred texts he mentioned earlier? The obvious reasons are to touch a larger audience, since most people are familiar with the stories, and to provide a base that has already been proven to work as a successful plot line. But there has to be something more to our desire to continue on with these anecdotes. Sure, we love tradition and the act of sharing our stories with younger generations, but why?

      It’s possible that by including fairy tales in their stories, writers are attempting to be remembered. To live on. Sharing our personal adventures with others is a way to keep our memories alive. That’s why the Greek myths are still told today. Since fairy tales, much like those old legends, will not be forgotten any time soon, maybe the authors that use them in their work are giving readers something to latch onto, and thus ensuring that the novel they put the familiar story in will live on.

      I believe companies have grasped this idea of immortality through remembrance. For instance, Barbie makes a great sum of money through movies such as Barbie Rapunzel and many other fairy tale based products. Now, the Barbie dolls that children own are not just plastic playthings. They are princesses, princes, trusty steeds, and villains. They hold a new, special place in that child’s memory. The kids then grow up with these characters, and each time they read or watch something similar to say, Swan Lake, they’ll make a connection to the Barbie Swan Lake set they used to play with.

      Because of this familiar connection, fairy tales can help a story, but they can also have negative effects on them. Personally, when I see a movie titled, “A Cinderella Story,” I don’t need anything else to know that the plot will be another variation on the Brothers Grimm’s Cinderella. Know this, many people would be delighted to see the new take on the old classic, but I’d rather not. After a while, I became tired of the stereotypical rags to riches, lame to popular type of fiction. The redundancy and predictability had become a bore. I may be wrong, but I assume that I am not the only person with this mindset. Because of people like me, the infusion of these popular fables in new works will have their cons. However, one could argue that if nothing else, curiosity would bring in viewers for movies like A Cinderella Story. Perhaps someone would like to spot the differences in the modern version, so they bought movie tickets. Maybe they want to see how the new film compares to the quality of the original. Whatever the case, there will be both pros and cons. But despite this, the makers of the movie will live on in remembrance because of the familiar tale they told.  At the end of the day, that’s the only thing that matters.  

Photo Source:  http://misternast.blogspot.com/p/fairy-tales.htm

Chapter Five: A Chapter Like All The Rest

                                  

Thomas C. Foster claims that no story is truly original. This is seen in parallels from Eragon to Temeraire, and from Lord of the Rings to Shrek. In the first example, both works include a person who comes across a dragon egg and becomes an unlikely friend and master of the creature. Then, the man and his dragon go on a quest that is only possible for the pair of them to accomplish. In the second example, two companions (Shrek and Donkey vs. Frodo and Sam) set out on a long, treacherous journey. Along the way, they meet friends such as the Princess Fiona and the fellowship of the ring, without whom the stories would not play out correctly. Even then, one could find connections between all four of these examples. There are two main companions in each, whom we could call the hero and the sidekick. From this perspective, these stories would connect to many superhero comics. It continues to go down a line of similar works, and after a while connections can be made between virtually any plot that is read, seen, heard, or experienced. It even crosses genre and media. From La Boheme, to Rent, to Romeo and Juliet, there are endless variations of the same story.

                Why does this happen? There are many answers to this question, but I will say that it happens because our stories are reflections of us. Maybe humans truly are all the same in our subconscious minds. The universal archetypes are based off of our own human lives. We all possess the same handful of emotions. Happiness, surprise, fear, disgust, anger, and sadness unite us, but the subtle variations in the strength of each one of these emotions and how they coincide with our experiences separate us.  In this sense, just as there is only one basic story, there is only one basic human mind.

                What was the original story that began the cycle of unoriginal narratives and novels? Humans didn’t always write down their experiences, so it probably started in lessons and myths passed down for generations. No matter how complex one novel may seem, it can usually be stripped down to a simple experience, so I would assume that these shared lessons and myths were the simplest forms of modern stories. At first, they were used to explain phenomena that were considered a mystery at the time. For example, the sun came up when Helios rode his flying chariot across the sky and brought the day. Eventually, these explanations were written down and elaborated on. As writing became more of a source of entertainment than an explanation of nature, outlandish details were added. However, each story, because it was written by humans, will always reflect our own lives. It is the reason we are able to see ourselves in characters, and the reason no story can ever be completely original. Just as music has only twelve notes and countless songs, humans have only a few emotions and endless supplies of similar stories.

Secondary Sources:

http://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2014/02/new-research-says-there-are-only-four-emotions/283560/

https://exchangingnarratives.files.wordpress.com/2011/09/where-do-stories-come-from.pdf

Picture Source:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oral_storytelling