Assignment:
Comparing Narrative in Fiction and Nonfiction
One fictional story and one essay is selected.compare, and contrast how they use narrative. As you do, analyze in what ways and on what topics a fictional narrative may be superior for discussing workplace themes and in which ways and on what a nonfiction narrative may be superior. Make sure you explain why this is the case.
This comparison would be facilitated by selecting works related in some way: works that share a theme, a type of character, a situation, an ethical question, and the like. Be specific in the analysis of story elements. Discuss how essays and fictional stories differ in characterization, plot, story line, suspense, language use, setting, point of view, presentation of theme, and in the integration of other literary elements discussed in this course. As you make these comparisons, consider the following points:
a. What shapes your emotional response to the stories in each work?
b. In a nonfiction work, the author must establish him or herself as credible. What takes the place of this need in fiction? How does this difference in narrative strategies relate to what is communicated about workplace themes?
c. Fiction is often intended to entertain the reader more than is the case in nonfiction. How are narratives used differently for entertainment purposes and for persuasive purposes in essays? How does the element of entertainment in either genre relate to the communication of serious messages about the workplace?
d. How do facts and narrative relate?
e. Consider where the theme of each work is introduced and how explicitly it is unveiled.
Narratives:
Anticipating: Describe a situation in which you have helped someone. Maybe you have a neighbour elderly and needs a snowy walk shovelled or assistance with a household chore. Perhaps you have worked with an organization whose members served volunteers in the community. Writhe about the projects you have been involved in as a volunteer, or specific incidents when you have helped someone who needed help. Analyze how you felt at the time. Describe your feelings.
A Delicate Balance:By Jose Armas
Romero Estrada had his home near the Golden Heights Centro where has pent a lot of time. He would get up almost every morning and clean and shave, and then after breakfast he would get his broom and go up and down the block sweeping the sidewalks for everyone. He would sweep in front of the Tortilleria America, the Tres Milpas Bar, Barelas' Barbershop, the used furniture store owned by Goldstein, the corner grocery store, the Model Cities office, and the print shop. In the afternoons, he would come back and sit in the barbershop and just watch the people go by. Sometimes, when there was no business, Barelas would let him sit in the barber chair, and Romero would love it. He would do this just about every day except Sundays and Mondays, when Barelas' was closed. Overtime, people got to expect Romero to do his little task of sweeping the sidewalks. When he was feeling real good, he would sweep in front of the houses on the block also. Romero took great care to sweep cleanly, between the cracks and even between the sides of the building. Everything went into the gutter. The work took him the whole morning if he did it the way he wanted.
Romero was considered a little crazy by most people, but they pretty much tolerated him. Nobody minded much when he got too drunk at the Tres Milpas Bar and went around telling everyone he loved them. "I love youuuu." He would tell everyone. Sometimes when he got too drunk and obnoxious, Tino, the bartender, would make him go home.
Romero received some kind of financial support, but it was not much. He was not given any credit by anyone because he would always forget to pay his bills. He did not do it on purpose; he just never remembered. The businessmen preferred just to do things for him and give him things when they wanted. Barelas, would trim his hair when things were slow; Tortilleria America would give him Menudo with fresh tortillas; the grocery store would give him overripe fruit and broken boxes of food that no one would buy.
When Barelas' oldest son, Seferino, graduated from high school, he went to work in his shop. Seferino took notice of Romero and came to feel sorry for him. One day, Romero was in the shop and Seferino decided to act.
Fifty cents for everyday you do the sidewalk for us.
Romero thought about it carefully. "Done," He Exclaimed.
He started for home right away, to get his broom.
"What did you do that for, mijo," ask Barelas.
"It do not seem right, Dad. The man works, and no one pays him for his work. Everyone should get paid for what they do."
"He do not need no pay. He has everything he needs."
"It is not the same, Dad. How would you like to do what he does and be treated the same way?"
"I am not Romero. You do not know about these things, mijo. Romero would be unhappy if his routine was upset. Right now, everyone likes him and takes care of him. He sweeps the sidewalk because he wants something to do. Not because he wants some money."
"I will pay him out of my money; do not worry about it."
"The money is not the point. The point is the money will not help Romero. Don't you understand that?"
"Look, Dad. Just put yourself in his place. Would you do it? Would you cut hair for nothing?"
Barelas knew his son was putting something over on him, but he did not know how to answer. It made sense the way Seferino explained it, but it did not seem right. On the other hand, Seferino had gone and finished high school. He must know something. Barelas did not know many kids who had finished high school, much less gone to college. And his son was going to college in the fall. Barelas himself had never even gone to school. Maybe his son had something there; yet on the other hand.... Barelas had known Romero a long time....Despite his uncertainty on the matter, Barelas decided to drop the issue and not say anything about it.
Just the, Romero came back and started to sweep in front of Barelas' shop again, pushing what little dirt was left into the curb. He swept up the gutter, put the trash in a box and threw it in a garbage can.
Seferino watched with pride as Romero went about his job, and when Romero was finished, Seferino went outside and told him he had done a good job and gave him his fifty cents.
Manolo was coming into the shop to get his hair cut as Seferino was giving Romero his wages. He noticed Romero with his broom.
"What is going on?" he asked. Barelas shrugged his shoulders.
"What's with Romero? Is he sick or something?"
"No, he is not sick," explained seferino, who now was inside. He told Manolo the story.
"Were going to make Romero a businessman. Do you realize how much money he would make if people just paid him fifty cents a day, if everyone paid him just fifty cents? He does do a job, you know."
"Well, it makes sense," said Manolo.
"Maybe I will ask people to do that," said Seferino. "That way the guy could make a decent wage. Do you want to help, Manolo? You can go with me to ask people to pay him."
"Well," said Manolo, "I am not too good at asking people for money."
This did not stop Seferino. He contacted all the businesses in the neighbourhood, but no one else wanted to contribute. Still, that did not discourage Seferino either. He went on giving Romero fifty cents a day.
A couple of weeks later, Seferino heard that Romero had gotten credit at the grocery store. "See, Dad, what did I tell you? Things are getting better for him already. And look, it is only been a couple of weeks."
But, for the next week, Romero did not show up to sweep any sidewalks. He was around, but he did not do any work for anybody. He walked around golden heights Centro in his best grey work pants and his slouch hat, trying his best to look important and walking right past the barbershop. The following week, he came and asked to talk with Seferino in private. They went into the back, where Barelas could not her, and Romero informed Seferino that he wanted a raise." what! What do you mean a raise? You have not worked for a week. You have only been doing this a couple of weeks, and now you want a raise?"
Seferino was clearly angry, but Romero was calm and persistent. He pointed out that he had been sweeping the sidewalks for along time-even before Seferino finished school.
"I deserve a raise," he insisted.
Seferino stared at Romero coldly. It was clearly a standoff in a labour-management confrontation.
Seferino said," look, maybe we should forget the whole thing. I was just trying to help you out, and now look at what you do."
Romero held his ground. "I helped you out, too. No one told me to do it, and I did it anyway. I helped you many years."
"Well, let's forget about the whole thing then," said Seferino.
"I quit then," said Romero.
"Quit!" exclaimed Seferino, laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing.
"Quit! I quit!" said Seferino as he stormed out the front of the shop, passing Barelas, who was cutting Pedrito's hair.
Seferino walked into the shop, shaking his head and laughing.
"Can you imagine that old guy?" he said. Barelas, for his part, did not seem too amused. He felt he could have predicted something like this would happen.
The next day, Romero was back sweeping the sidewalks again, but when he came to the barbershop, he walked completely around it and then continued sweeping the rest of the sidewalks. After about a week of doing this everyday, he began sweeping the sidewalk all the way up to Barelas' and then pushing the trash to the side walk in front of the barbershop.
He had also stopped coming to the shop altogether. When he and Barelas met in the street, they would still greet each other. And Barelas would never bring up the fact that Romero kept pushing the trash in front of the shop. Things went on like that for a long time, until fall came and Seferino went off to college and stopped helping his father in the shop.
It was then Romero began sweeping all the sidewalk again. He was happier then, and he even whistled and sang at his job.
Pablo Picasso: Living in his own shadow
Anticipating:
Think of a woman or a man you admire: an athlete, a singer, an actor, a politician, an artist, a business leader, a community leader.
Write everything you know about this person off the top of your head; just get the information down on paper. Discuss what this person has done, why you admire her or him, and how s/he ended up in their career, if this last part is applicable.
We were one hour into the Picasso exhibit when we stopped in front of a cubist painting called "The Accordionist." Behind us were five huge rooms full of gorgeous impressionist children and massive stated women, of perfectly reproduced realism, of shattered forms of revolutionary cubism. At the bottom of this one picture, we checked the date: 1911. He had done all this before his thirtieth birthday. The age impressed me more than it did the twelve year old next to me. We live on opposite sides of that dividing line. Yet, we were both struck by the volume and versatility of Picasso's life work in this exhibit.
It is said that when Picasso was a teenager, his artist-father gave the boy his own palette, brushes and colors, and never painted again. It is known that when he died at the age of ninety-one, Picasso was arranging for a show of his latest work. In between he was astonishingly productive.
Here was a man who produced some 13,000 to 14,000 canvases, 100,000 prints or engravings, and 34,000 book illustrations. He worked in virtually every medium from stage sets to ceramics, ranging back and forth from one to the other with as much energy as genius.
Yet as we wandered through the last thirty years of his life, you could see it all slip. The exhibit kindly excludes the commercial peace doves and greeting-card poster art of the last years. But still, it is easy to see the versatility turning frenetic, the search turning downhill. There is even a sense that perhaps he began to imitate himself-not just to create, but to create "Picassos."
There is nothing bad on these walls. The worst of his artist is very, very good. But winding down through his age and out again onto 54th street, it was hard not to wonder what it was like to be Picasso at seventy, or eight, or ninety, competing with Picasso at forty.
What is it like to keep working in the present while your past has already been written into history books? What is it like to compete with your own best?
It is something that I have thought of before. I have thought of it whenever Tennessee Williams turns up in the news, alive but rarely well, writing poorly in comparison to his own brilliant retrospectives. I have thought of it when Frank Sinatra goes on stage, all blue eyes and strained vocal cards. They are pale versions of themselves.
Living in your own shadow is a problem of aging athletes and beautiful women and artists and actors and, to an extent, all of us.
The American ideal is that people should quit with the gold medals around their necks and the stars on their doors.
We want them to stay on top or move on. We want to laurelize them like Jesse Owens or ignore them like Mark Spitz.
We hope that, like Beverley sill, they will "move on" at the right moment, off of one stage and onto the next ... before their voices crack in public.
There are few ways for our stars to retreat gracefully back into the chorus line. We live in such an achievement-oriented world that anyone who is not doing his or her best, breaking records, going onward and upward , is somehow or other failing.
We feel saddened that Joe DiMaggio sells coffee-makers and uncomfortable that Willie Mays "stayed too long." Few of us know quit how to deal with the man or woman who "used to be" somebody.
Picasso was hardly a failure in his later life. He refused to be canonized. He refused to rest on his laurels. He chose productivity. He got up in the morning, nearly paralyzed by pessimism about his own ability, and went to work.
There is something, not sad but remarkable, in this refusal to "act his age," or to retire gracefully. Surrounded by his own collection of his favourite cubist work, he must have known his limits. But out of compulsion or conviction, he kept working.
" Creation," Picasso said, " is the only thing that interests me." So for ninety-one years, he did something remarkable. He stayed interested.