Moral Mutation and the apocalyptic future Essay Example for Free

Moral Mutation and the apocalyptic future Essay The two texts, the film and the book, were set in a post-Hiroshima world where arsenals were being further improved to generate a more efficient way to participate in warfare and be the leader in these developments. By lumping two stories together in an analysis, it is inevitable for traits to be observed in the chosen texts. Dewey in his analysis of Cat’s Cradle described Dr. Hoenikker as a â€Å"man-child curiously unfamiliar with concepts such as sin and God† (57). He then identified in the doctor a â€Å"moral mutation who believes with Faustian pride that humanity can manipulate, dominate, even annihilate nature† (57). When the Russians and the Americans in Dr. Strangelove developed their own military hardware in order to upstage the enemy and scare them into submission they demonstrated the characteristics of this mutation. Because of the belief that man can dominate nature, these weapons were made to possess qualities that rivalled the greatest strength of the natural world. Hence, should the enemy ever attack, they could immediately launch a counter-attack and prove their superiority. The will to dominate and annihilate nature is not the only characteristic of this moral mutation. Egocentrism plays a focal point in this mutation, for it fuels the foolishness of the characters and magnifies their ignorance. Dr. Hoenikker announced that he saw himself as a child that allowed curiosity to get the better of him and strove to study anything that caught his interest. All his studies he did for himself and he seemed to have no regard for others: he did not take good care of his wife who turned her back on everything for him; he pulled out Angela from school because he wanted someone to take care of him; and he never considered the effects of his inventions, he saw them only as playthings and never thought of the consequences that will affect the lives of millions of people. Westfahl interprets this as a jab at notion that the scientist can be relieved of responsibility in developing such instruments because he is only interested in science and not in wealth and fame (957). After his death, his children distributed the ice-nine between themselves, as he had neglected to keep such a dangerous substance in an appropriate place. The children used the seed crystal to suit their own wants, provided warring powers with the weapon and caused the apocalypse. General Jack D. Ripper acts as the Dr. Hoenikker of Dr. Strangelove. He allowed a theory that he had formed out of sexual fatigue to dictate his decisions as a general; he was too confident in his analysis of the situation and stubbornly stood by his actions, not bothering to consult with other officials. In the last stages before the explosions, he never checked on how the people around him were doing and only worried of what will become of him should his building be stormed and his enemies come after him. In the end, he chose to save himself rather than face the consequences of his actions. The two texts present the end of the world in a manner of a ticking bomb. The countdown in Cat’s Cradle starts after the reader is made aware that the events presented lead to the unfortunate end. In Dr. Strangelove, the countdown is in the form of time-measure; the length of time it would take for the B-52s to reach their targets thus activating the doomsday device. Looking at the two texts, the direct causes of the end of the world stand on a far distance from the other. Dr. Strangelove’s tension before the cataclysm was between two world powers, and elements that sprout from this tension eventually sprouted the doom. The film’s end was caused by the actions of people and abrupt: showing only scenes of the bomb explosions but none of what happened after. Perhaps this hinted that nothing survived after the event and it was truly the there were no more stories to tell. In Cat’s Cradle, what caused the end was the body of a dictator of a small island which nobody wanted to rule. The narrator believed that this was destined and all that he experienced were pointing to that event and to his destiny after the apocalypse. As he still had something to accomplish after the ice-nine incident, Jonah kept accounts of what had happened up until the point he meets Bokonon face to face. The two texts tackle different viewpoints regarding scientific development and the participation of people in history. The suggestions and portrayals of Cat’s Cradle may not completely coincide with those of Dr. Strangelove’s, but similarities still exist between the two texts. Dewey, Joseph. In a dark time: the apocalyptic temper in the American novel of the nuclear age. Indiana: Purdue University Press. 1990. Dr Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb . Dir. Stanley Kubrick. Perf. Peter Sellers, George C. Scott, Slim Pickens, Sterling Hayden, James Earl Jones. 1964. DVD. Columbia Pictures, 2004. mininova. Cat’s Cradle. 1 June 2009. http://www. mininova. org/tor/1359220 Westfahl, Gary. The Greenwood encyclopedia of science fiction and fantasy: themes, works, and wonders. Connecticut: Greenwood Publishing Group. 2005.

The Battle Over Same-Sex Marriage Essay -- Gay Marriage

Same-sex marriage has grown into to a national issue. In 2003, the Massachusetts Supreme Court ruled that same-sex couples had the right to marry which provoked a firestorm of debate. The discussion extends from private livings rooms and local watering holes; all the way to the floor of the U.S. Congress and the White House. The debate about same-sex marriage has become a hot button issue, which pits secular-progressives who support gay-rights against religious and social traditionalists fighting for the sanctity of marriage. When La Shawn Barber, Anna Quindlen, Andrew Sullivan and the editors at National Review wrote their opinion pieces regarding the topic of same-sex marriage the debate had already been raging for many years and it still is today. Freelance writer La Shawn Barber and the editors of National Review oppose same-sex marriage and argue that legalizing same-sex marriage would fundamentally redefine marriage and weaken it as a social institution. Conversely, contributing editor of Newsweek magazine, Anna Quindlen, and â€Å"The Daily Dish† blogger Andrew Sullivan support same-sex marriage and stress that same-sex couples should be treated no different than heterosexual couples, including when it comes to the right to marry. In â€Å"The Loving Decision,† Quindlen uses the example of the historic court case Loving v. Virginia, which legalized interracial marriage, to argue that homosexuals should be allowed to marry whomever they want. Quindlen maintains that the Loving v. Virginia case is applicable to the modern-day fight for same-sex marriage because this is an issue of civil rights violations, much like the original case from 1968. In contrast, Barber, counters in â€Å"Interracial Marriage: Slippery Slo... ...Department of Public Health. Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court. 18 Nov. 2003. Print. Quindlen, Anna. "The Loving Decision." The Daily Beast. Newsweek/Daily Beast, 14 Nov. 2008. Web. 28 March 2015. . Sullivan, Andrew. "The Right's Contempt For Gay Lives." The Atlantic. 8 Apr. 2009. Web. 28 March 2015. . Vamburkar, Meenal. "Coulter To Hannity: Liberals Use Judicial Activism To Invent Rightsâ„ ¢ Like Abortion, Gay Marriage." Coulter To Hannity: Liberals Use Judicial Activism To Invent Rightsâ„ ¢ Like Abortion, Gay Marriage. 5 Apr. 2012. Web. 28 March 2015. .

A Game of Thrones Chapter Twenty-three

Daenerys The Dothraki sea,† Ser Jorah Mormont said as he reined to a halt beside her on the top of the ridge. beneath them, the plain stretched out immense and empty, a vast flat expanse that reached to the distant horizon and beyond. It was a sea, Dany thought. Past here, there were no hills, no mountains, no trees nor cities nor roads, only the endless grasses, the tall blades rippling like waves when the winds blew. â€Å"It's so green,† she said. â€Å"Here and now,† Ser Jorah agreed. â€Å"You ought to see it when it blooms, all dark red flowers from horizon to horizon, like a sea of blood. Come the dry season, and the world turns the color of old bronze. And this is only hranna, child. There are a hundred kinds of grass out there, grasses as yellow as lemon and as dark as indigo, blue grasses and orange grasses and grasses like rainbows. Down in the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai, they say there are oceans of ghost grass, taller than a man on horseback with stalks as pale as milkglass. It murders all other grass and glows in the dark with the spirits of the damned. The Dothraki claim that someday ghost grass will cover the entire world, and then all life will end.† That thought gave Dany the shivers. â€Å"I don't want to talk about that now,† she said. â€Å"It's so beautiful here, I don't want to think about everything dying.† â€Å"As you will, Khaleesi,† Ser Jorah said respectfully. She heard the sound of voices and turned to look behind her. She and Mormont had outdistanced the rest of their party, and now the others were climbing the ridge below them. Her handmaid Irri and the young archers of her khas were fluid as centaurs, but Viserys still struggled with the short stirrups and the flat saddle. Her brother was miserable out here. He ought never have come. Magister Illyrio had urged him to wait in Pentos, had offered him the hospitality of his manse, but Viserys would have none of it. He would stay with Drogo until the debt had been paid, until he had the crown he had been promised. â€Å"And if he tries to cheat me, he will learn to his sorrow what it means to wake the dragon,† Viserys had vowed, laying a hand on his borrowed sword. Illyrio had blinked at that and wished him good fortune. Dany realized that she did not want to listen to any of her brother's complaints right now. The day was too perfect. The sky was a deep blue, and high above them a hunting hawk circled. The grass sea swayed and sighed with each breath of wind, the air was warm on her face, and Dany felt at peace. She would not let Viserys spoil it. â€Å"Wait here,† Dany told Ser Jorah. â€Å"Tell them all to stay. Tell them I command it.† The knight smiled. Ser Jorah was not a handsome man. He had a neck and shoulders like a bull, and coarse black hair covered his arms and chest so thickly that there was none left for his head. Yet his smiles gave Dany comfort. â€Å"You are learning to talk like a queen, Daenerys.† â€Å"Not a queen,† said Dany. â€Å"A khaleesi.† She wheeled her horse about and galloped down the ridge alone. The descent was steep and rocky, but Dany rode fearlessly, and the joy and the danger of it were a song in her heart. All her life Viserys had told her she was a princess, but not until she rode her silver had Daenerys Targaryen ever felt like one. At first it had not come easy. The khalasar had broken camp the morning after her wedding, moving east toward Vaes Dothrak, and by the third day Dany thought she was going to die. Saddle sores opened on her bottom, hideous and bloody. Her thighs were chafed raw, her hands blistered from the reins, the muscles of her legs and back so wracked with pain that she could scarcely sit. By the time dusk fell, her handmaids would need to help her down from her mount. Even the nights brought no relief. Khal Drogo ignored her when they rode, even as he had ignored her during their wedding, and spent his evenings drinking with his warriors and bloodriders, racing his prize horses, watching women dance and men die. Dany had no place in these parts of his life. She was left to sup alone, or with Ser Jorah and her brother, and afterward to cry herself to sleep. Yet every night, some time before the dawn, Drogo would come to her tent and wake her in the dark, to ride her as relentlessly as he rode his stallion. He always took her from behind, Dothraki fashion, for which Dany was grateful; that way her lord husband could not see the tears that wet her face, and she could use her pillow to muffle her cries of pain. When he was done, he would close his eyes and begin to snore softly and Dany would lie beside him, her body bruised and sore, hurting too much for sleep. Day followed day, and night followed night, until Dany knew she could not endure a moment longer. She would kill herself rather than go on, she decided one night . . . Yet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Viserys was not in it this time. There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma, and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her, She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce. And the next day, strangely, she did not seem to hurt quite so much. It was as if the gods had heard her and taken pity. Even her handmaids noticed the change. â€Å"Khaleesi,† Jhiqui said, â€Å"what is wrong? Are you sick?† â€Å"I was,† she answered, standing over the dragon's eggs that Illyrio had given her when she wed. She touched one, the largest of the three, running her hand lightly over the shelf. Black-and-scarlet, she thought, like the dragon in my dream. The stone felt strangely warm beneath her fingers . . . or was she still dreaming? She pulled her hand back nervously. From that hour onward, each day was easier than the one before it. Her legs grew stronger; her blisters burst and her hands grew callused; her soft thighs toughened, supple as leather. The khal had commanded the handmaid Irri to teach Dany to ride in the Dothraki fashion, but it was the filly who was her real teacher. The horse seemed to know her moods, as if they shared a single mind. With every passing day, Dany felt surer in her seat. The Dothraki were a hard and unsentimental people, and it was not their custom to name their animals, so Dany thought of her only as the silver. She had never loved anything so much. As the riding became less an ordeal, Dany began to notice the beauties of the land around her. She rode at the head of the khalasar with Drogo and his bloodriders, so she came to each country fresh and unspoiled. Behind them the great horde might tear the earth and muddy the rivers and send up clouds of choking dust, but the fields ahead of them were always green and verdant. They crossed the rolling hills of Norvos, past terraced farms and small villages where the townsfolk watched anxiously from atop white stucco walls. They forded three wide placid rivers and a fourth that was swift and narrow and treacherous, camped beside a high blue waterfall, skirted the tumbled ruins of a vast dead city where ghosts were said to moan among blackened marble columns. They raced down Valyrian roads a thousand years old and straight as a Dothraki arrow. For half a moon, they rode through the Forest of Qohor, where the leaves made a golden canopy high above them, and the trunks of the trees were as wide as city gates. There were great elk in that wood, and spotted tigers, and lemurs with silver fur and huge purple eyes, but all fled before the approach of the khalasar and Dany got no glimpse of them. By then her agony was a fading memory. She still ached after a long day's riding, yet somehow the pain had a sweetness to it now, and each morning she came willingly to her saddle, eager to know what wonders waited for her in the lands ahead. She began to find pleasure even in her nights, and if she still cried out when Drogo took her, it was not always in pain. At the bottom of the ridge, the grasses rose around her, tall and supple. Dany slowed to a trot and rode out onto the plain, losing herself in the green, blessedly alone. In the khalasar she was never alone. Khal Drogo came to her only after the sun went down, but her handmaids fed her and bathed her and slept by the door of her tent, Drogo's bloodriders and the men of her khas were never far, and her brother was an unwelcome shadow, day and night. Dany could hear him on the top of the ridge, his voice shrill with anger as he shouted at Ser Jorah. She rode on, submerging herself deeper in the Dothraki sea. The green swallowed her up. The air was rich with the scents of earth and grass, mixed with the smell of horseflesh and Dany's sweat and the oil in her hair. Dothraki smells. They seemed to belong here. Dany breathed it all in, laughing. She had a sudden urge to feel the ground beneath her, to curl her toes in that thick black soil. Swinging down from her saddle, she let the silver graze while she pulled off her high boots. Viserys came upon her as sudden as a summer storm, his horse rearing beneath him as he reined up too hard. â€Å"You dare!† he screamed at her. â€Å"You give commands to me? To me?† He vaulted off the horse, stumbling as he landed. His face was flushed as he struggled back to his feet. He grabbed her, shook her. â€Å"Have you forgotten who you are? Look at you. Look at you!† Dany did not need to look. She was barefoot, with oiled hair, wearing Dothraki riding leathers and a painted vest given her as a bride gift. She looked as though she belonged here. Viserys was soiled and stained in city silks and ringmail. He was still screaming. â€Å"You do not command the dragon. Do you understand? I am the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, I will not hear orders from some horselord's slut, do you hear me?† His hand went under her vest, his fingers digging painfully into her breast. â€Å"Do you hear me?† Dany shoved him away, hard. Viserys stared at her, his lilac eyes incredulous. She had never defied him. Never fought back. Rage twisted his features. He would hurt her now, and badly, she knew that. Crack. The whip made a sound like thunder. The coil took Viserys around the throat and yanked him backward. He went sprawling in the grass, stunned and choking. The Dothraki riders hooted at him as he struggled to free himself. The one with the whip, young Jhogo, rasped a question. Dany did not understand his words, but by then Irri was there, and Ser Jorah, and the rest of her khas. â€Å"Jhogo asks if you would have him dead, Khaleesi, † Irri said. â€Å"No,† Dany replied. â€Å"No.† Jhogo understood that. One of the others barked out a comment, and the Dothraki laughed. Irri told her, â€Å"Quaro thinks you should take an ear to teach him respect.† Her brother was on his knees, his fingers digging under the leather coils, crying incoherently, struggling for breath. The whip was tight around his windpipe. â€Å"Tell them I do not wish him harmed,† Dany said. Irri repeated her words in Dothraki. Jhogo gave a pull on the whip, yanking Viserys around like a puppet on a string. He went sprawling again, freed from the leather embrace, a thin line of blood under his chin where the whip had cut deep. â€Å"I warned him what would happen, my lady,† Ser Jorah Mormont said. â€Å"I told him to stay on the ridge, as you commanded.† â€Å"I know you did,† Dany replied, watching Viserys. He lay on the ground, sucking in air noisily, red-faced and sobbing. He was a pitiful thing. He had always been a pitiful thing. Why had she never seen that before? There was a hollow place inside her where her fear had been. â€Å"Take his horse,† Dany commanded Ser Jorah. Viserys gaped at her. He could not believe what he was hearing; nor could Dany quite believe what she was saying. Yet the words came. â€Å"Let my brother walk behind us back to the khalasar.† Among the Dothraki, the man who does not ride was no man at all, the lowest of the low, without honor or pride. â€Å"Let everyone see him as he is.† â€Å"No!† Viserys screamed. He turned to Ser Jorah, pleading in the Common Tongue with words the horsemen would not understand. â€Å"Hit her, Mormont. Hurt her. Your king commands it. Kill these Dothraki dogs and teach her.† The exile knight looked from Dany to her brother; she barefoot, with dirt between her toes and oil in her hair, he with his silks and steel. Dany could see the decision on his face. â€Å"He shall walk, Khaleesi,† he said. He took her brother's horse in hand while Dany remounted her silver. Viserys gaped at him, and sat down in the dirt. He kept his silence, but he would not move, and his eyes were full of poison as they rode away. Soon he was lost in the tall grass. When they could not see him anymore, Dany grew afraid. â€Å"Will he find his way back?† she asked Ser Jorah as they rode. â€Å"Even a man as blind as your brother should be able to follow our trail,† he replied. â€Å"He is proud. He may be too shamed to come back.† Jorah laughed. â€Å"Where else should he go? If he cannot find the khalasar, the khalasar will most surely find him. It is hard to drown in the Dothraki sea, child.† Dany saw the truth of that. The khalasar was like a city on the march, but it did not march blindly. Always scouts ranged far ahead of the main column, alert for any sign of game or prey or enemies, while outriders guarded their flanks. They missed nothing, not here, in this land, the place where they had come from. These plains were a part of them . . . and of her, now. â€Å"I hit him,† she said, wonder in her voice. Now that it was over, it seemed like some strange dream that she had dreamed. â€Å"Ser Jorah, do you think . . . he'll be so angry when he gets back . . . She shivered. â€Å"I woke the dragon, didn't I?† Ser Jorah snorted. â€Å"Can you wake the dead, girl? Your brother Rhaegar was the last dragon, and he died on the Trident. Viserys is less than the shadow of a snake.† His blunt words startled her. It seemed as though all the things she had always believed were suddenly called into question. â€Å"You . . . you swore him your sword . . . â€Å" â€Å"That I did, girl,† Ser Jorah said. â€Å"And if your brother is the shadow of a snake, what does that make his servants?† His voice was bitter. â€Å"He is still the true king. He is . . . â€Å" Jorah pulled up his horse and looked at her. â€Å"Truth now. Would you want to see Viserys sit a throne?† Dany thought about that. â€Å"He would not be a very good king, would he?† â€Å"There have been worse . . . but not many.† The knight gave his heels to his mount and started off again. Dany rode close beside him. â€Å"Still,† she said, â€Å"the common people are waiting for him. Magister Illyrio says they are sewing dragon banners and praying for Viserys to return from across the narrow sea to free them.† â€Å"The common people pray for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends,† Ser Jorah told her. â€Å"It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones, so long as they are left in peace.† He gave a shrug. â€Å"They never are.† Dany rode along quietly for a time, working his words like a puzzle box. It went against everything that Viserys had ever told her to think that the people could care so little whether a true king or a usurper reigned over them. Yet the more she thought on Jorah's words, the more they rang of truth. â€Å"What do you pray for, Ser Jorah?† she asked him. â€Å"Home,† he said. His voice was thick with longing. â€Å"I pray for home too,† she told him, believing it. Ser Jorah laughed. â€Å"Look around you then, Khaleesi.† But it was not the plains Dany saw then. It was King's Landing and the great Red Keep that Aegon the Conqueror had built. It was Dragonstone where she had been born. In her mind's eye they burned with a thousand lights, a fire blazing in every window. In her mind's eye, all the doors were red. â€Å"My brother will never take back the Seven Kingdoms,† Dany said. She had known that for a long time, she realized. She had known it all her life. Only she had never let herself say the words, even in a whisper, but now she said them for Jorah Mormont and all the world to hear. Ser Jorah gave her a measuring look. â€Å"You think not.† â€Å"He could not lead an army even if my lord husband gave him one,† Dany said. â€Å"He has no coin and the only knight who follows him reviles him as less than a snake. The Dothraki make mock of his weakness. He will never take us home.† â€Å"Wise child.† The knight smiled. â€Å"I am no child,† she told him fiercely. Her heels pressed into the sides of her mount, rousing the silver to a gallop. Faster and faster she raced, leaving Jorah and Irri and the others far behind, the warm wind in her hair and the setting sun red on her face. By the time she reached the khalasar, it was dusk. The slaves had erected her tent by the shore of a spring-fed pool. She could hear rough voices from the woven grass palace on the hill. Soon there would be laughter, when the men of her khas told the story of what had happened in the grasses today. By the time Viserys came limping back among them, every man, woman, and child in the camp would know him for a walker. There were no secrets in the khalasar. Dany gave the silver over to the slaves for grooming and entered her tent. It was cool and dim beneath the silk. As she let the door flap close behind her, Dany saw a finger of dusty red light reach out to touch her dragon's eggs across the tent. For an instant a thousand droplets of scarlet flame swam before her eyes. She blinked, and they were gone. Stone, she told herself. They are only stone, even Illyrio said so, the dragons are all dead. She put her palm against the black egg, fingers spread gently across the curve of the shell. The stone was warm. Almost hot. â€Å"The sun,† Dany whispered. â€Å"The sun warmed them as they rode.† She commanded her handmaids to prepare her a bath. Doreah built a fire outside the tent, while Irri and Jhiqui fetched the big copper tub—another bride gift—from the packhorses and carried water from the pool. When the bath was steaming, Irri helped her into it and climbed in after her. â€Å"Have you ever seen a dragon?† she asked as Irri scrubbed her back and Jhiqui sluiced sand from her hair. She had heard that the first dragons had come from the east, from the ShadowLands beyond Asshai and the islands of the JadeSea. Perhaps some were still living there, in realms strange and wild. â€Å"Dragons are gone, Khaleesi,† Irri said. â€Å"Dead,† agreed Jhiqui. â€Å"Long and long ago.† Viserys had told her that the last Targaryen dragons had died no more than a century and a half ago, during the reign of Aegon III, who was called the Dragonbane. That did not seem so long ago to Dany. â€Å"Everywhere?† she said, disappointed. â€Å"Even in the east?† Magic had died in the west when the Doom fell on Valyria and the Lands of the Long Summer, and neither spell-forged steel nor stormsingers nor dragons could hold it back, but Dany had always heard that the east was different. It was said that manticores prowled the islands of the JadeSea, that basilisks infested the jungles of Yi Ti, that spellsingers, warlocks, and aeromancers practiced their arts openly in Asshai, while shadowbinders and bloodmages worked terrible sorceries in the black of night. Why shouldn't there be dragons too? â€Å"No dragon,† Irri said. â€Å"Brave men kill them, for dragon terrible evil beasts. It is known.† â€Å"It is known,† agreed Jhiqui. â€Å"A trader from Qarth once told me that dragons came from the moon,† blond Doreah said as she warmed a towel over the fire. Jhiqui and Irri were of an age with Dany, Dothraki girls taken as slaves when Drogo destroyed their father's khalasar. Doreah was older, almost twenty. Magister Illyrio had found her in a pleasure house in Lys. Silvery-wet hair tumbled across her eyes as Dany turned her head, curious. â€Å"The moon?† â€Å"He told me the moon was an egg, Khaleesi,† the Lysene girl said. â€Å"Once there were two moons in the sky, but one wandered too close to the sun and cracked from the heat. A thousand thousand dragons poured forth, and drank the fire of the sun. That is why dragons breathe flame. One day the other moon will kiss the sun too, and then it will crack and the dragons will return.† The two Dothraki girls giggled and laughed. â€Å"You are foolish strawhead slave,† Irri said. â€Å"Moon is no egg. Moon is god, woman wife of sun. It is known.† â€Å"It is known,† Jhiqui agreed. Dany's skin was flushed and pink when she climbed from the tub. Jhiqui laid her down to oil her body and scrape the dirt from her pores. Afterward Irri sprinkled her with spiceflower and cinnamon. While Doreah brushed her hair until it shone like spun silver, she thought about the moon, and eggs, and dragons. Her supper was a simple meal of fruit and cheese and fry bread, with a jug of honeyed wine to wash it down. â€Å"Doreah, stay and eat with me,† Dany commanded when she sent her other handmaids away. The Lysene girl had hair the color of honey, and eyes like the summer sky. She lowered those eyes when they were alone. â€Å"You honor me, Khaleesi,† she said, but it was no honor, only service. Long after the moon had risen, they sat together, talking. That night, when Khal Drogo came, Dany was waiting for him. He stood in the door of her tent and looked at her with surprise. She rose slowly and opened her sleeping silks and let them fall to the ground. â€Å"This night we must go outside, my lord,† she told him, for the Dothraki believed that all things of importance in a man's life must be done beneath the open sky. Khal Drogo followed her out into the moonlight, the bells in his hair tinkling softly. A few yards from her tent was a bed of soft grass, and it was there that Dany drew him down. When he tried to turn her over, she put a hand on his chest. â€Å"No,† she said. â€Å"This night I would look on your face.† There is no privacy in the heart of the khalasar. Dany felt the eyes on her as she undressed him, heard the soft voices as she did the things that Doreah had told her to do. It was nothing to her. Was she not khaleesi? His were the only eyes that mattered, and when she mounted him she saw something there that she had never seen before. She rode him as fiercely as ever she had ridden her silver, and when the moment of his pleasure came, Khal Drogo called out her name. They were on the far side of the Dothraki sea when Jhiqui brushed the soft swell of Dany's stomach with her fingers and said, â€Å"Khaleesi, you are with child.† â€Å"I know,† Dany told her. It was her fourteenth name day.

Emily Dickinson s Because I Could Not Stop For Death

When one dwells upon the idea of death, many thoughts can come to mind. These thoughts can include peaceful, scary, inevitable, cold, and many other things. Being one of the only female poets of her time, Emily Dickinson is a profound writer and her poems are intricate works of art. In her poem, â€Å"Because I Could Not Stop For Death,† Dickinson uses strong diction and imagery to describe the intimacy an individual has with death when it is encountered. Emily Dickinson’s poem, â€Å"Because I Could Not Stop For Death,† is a poem in which she communicates a story in which the concept of death comes to life and takes its next customer for a carriage ride. The concept of death is initially personified into a kind, gentle individual rather than the typical image associated with death: the Grimm Reaper. The audience receives this impression of a kind, gentle death from Dickinson in her first two lines of the poem: Because I could not stop for Death- He kindly stoppe d for me- (1-2) Often, death is thought to be rigorous, painful, and unexpected even. Death is a common theme throughout Dickinson’s poetry, but in this work in particular, Dickinson highlights the peaceful side of dying by giving death a soft side. Another example of Dickinson portraying death as a figure of kind nature is in the second stanza of the poem: We slowly drove - He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and leisure too, For his Civility- (4-7) In this stanza, Dickinson uses two crucial personality traitsShow MoreRelatedEmily Dickinson s `` Because I Could Not Stop For Death `` Essay1355 Words   |  6 PagesModernism for Emily Dickinson has to do with the uncertainty. Emily Dickinson was a somber thinker who doesn’t try to enlighten anyone of anything. Her poems were uniquely written and she wrote about the uncertainty, which makes her poetry easy to empathize with in the 21st century. The 21st century, is a period of science which is used as a tool to make sense of the uncertainty. Emily Dickinson uses her poetry as a means to question and observe the trauma of human existence. For instance, she doesn’tRead MoreEmily Dickinson s `` Because I Could Not Stop For Death ``762 Words   |  4 PagesEmily Dickinson concentrates many of her poems on the theme of death, predominantly her own. These â€Å"poems about death confront its grim reality with honesty, humor, curiosity, and above all a refusal to be comf orted (â€Å"Emily Dickinson 1830-1886† 1659). While this was not an out of the ordinary topic during the American Romantic era, Dickinson seemed near obsessive in her focus. Additionally, Dickinson seems questionable in her thoughts on religion, another theme popular during the American RomanticRead MoreEmily Dickinson s `` Because I Could Not Stop For Death ``1088 Words   |  5 PagesEmily Dickinson Emily Dickinson’s poems are shorter than most, but that does not mean that they lack depth or skill. Dickinson uses many brilliant literary techniques in her poetry such as allusions, personification, juxtaposition, metaphors and so many others. Her unique use of symbolism throughout her poems really makes the reader think twice on what they are reading. And since the majority of her poems are short, it makes it easier to reread the poem numerous times. In Emily Dickinson’s PoemRead MoreEmily Dickinson s Because I Could Not Stop For Death1751 Words   |  8 Pages Outlook on Death in Dickinson’s â€Å"Because I Could Not Stop for Death† Death is considered by many to be the heartbreaking end of life; the moment when one is bound to hopelessness, to accept loss, and to accept the inevitable. As discouraging as this outlook on death may appear, it is captivating why Emily Dickinson preferred to make death one among the major themes of her poems. Because numerous poets of the 19th century wrote about death, Dickinson was not exceptional in picking this idea. HoweverRead MoreEmily Dickinson s A Route Of Evanescence And Because I Could Not Stop For Death1167 Words   |  5 PagesEmily Dickinson Emily Dickinson published only a few poems during her time. Her work was only truly discovered after her death of kidney disease in 1886 at the age of fifty-six. Upon her death her sister Lavinia Dickinson found hundreds of poems tied into a book stitched together by Emily. People claim that she is the most original 19th Century American Poet and is now considered one of the towering figures of American literature. Although She is known for her unconventional broken rhyming meterRead MoreEmily Dickinson s Poem, Because I Could Not Stop For Death854 Words   |  4 Pages Death is everywhere. From the insect you killed this morning to the family member you lose recently, there is no force stronger than death. Emily Dickinson, a 19th century writer, indulges that fact but also goes beyond it in her work. Dickinson revisits the theme of death in her poetry. Through her work, she shows readers her fascination with death the emotions associated with it. In â€Å"I heard a Fly buzz when I died† and â€Å"I’ve seen a Dying Eye†, Dickinson shows us a very intimate view of a personRead MoreEmily Dickinson s Poem, Because I Could Not Stop For Death877 Words   |  4 PagesEmily Dickinson is known for writing poems that relate to death and dying, and the poem â€Å"Because I could not stop for death† is no exception. This is a narrative poem that illustrates the passage from life to death as a carriage ride through a quiet town. In this particular poem, the speaker has already passed away and is remembering what seems to be a fond memory, however that is not revealed till the final stanza. There are only two characters, The speaker and Death. The speaker is a lady whoRead MoreFigurative Language And Imagery Of Emily Dickinson s `` Because I Could Not Stop For Death ``2152 Words   |  9 Pages Emily Dickinson is considered to be one of the greatest poets of figurative language and imagery. I found her poem â€Å"Because I could N ot Stop for Death† to be an exemplary illustration of those forms of writing. Enlaced with the personifications of Death, Immortality, and Eternity; Dickinson reaches into the depths of the reader’s psyche and transports them on a journey into her world of life after death. In this essay, I will attempt to show that due to certain event that occurred towards theRead MoreThe Author That I Decided To Discuss The Literary Significance1232 Words   |  5 PagesThe author that I decided to discuss the literary significance is Emily Dickinson. Dickinson was born, raised, and in Amherst, Massachusetts in December 10, 180 and died May 15, 1886 in the same state. Her father was Edward Dickinson, and her mother was also named Emily, Emily Norcross Dickinson. Emily Dickinson went to Mount Holyoke College, a small private school in South Hadley, Massachusetts. She’s known as one of the best American Poet. Emily s poem were frequently perceived by a wide rangeRead MoreEmily Dickinson : The Point When A Reader1749 Words   |  7 PagesHorieh Introduction to Literature Professor Knoernschild November 27, 2015 Emily Dickinson At the point when a reader hears the name Emily Dickinson, they consider a female who composed verse that has been surely understood for a considerable length of time and years. Much to their dismay that Emily Dickinson established American Literature, and began an entire unrest of verse. The procedure Dickinson used to keep in touch with her verse was at no other time seen and was the foundation