Category: Independent Reading

IRJE #1 – Pretties by Scott Westerfeld – 2005

The book Pretties by Scott Westerfeld is the second book in the Uglies book series, which comprises of four books, Uglies, Pretties, Specials, and Extras. In this series, at age 16, you are turned from an ugly into a pretty with plastic surgery. After being turned into a pretty, late because she ran away to the New Smoke in the first book, Tally finds it hard to remember her old life back in Ugly Ville. Every pretty has this problem. During chapters 8 and 9, Tally and her friend find a note that was written to herself from her old ugly self, and two small white pills with it. She reads it to herself, and one section of the letter says this:

But anyways, here’s what I’m trying to tell you: They did something to your brain – our brain – and that’s why this letter may seem kind of weird to you. We (that’s “we” as in us out in the New Smoke, not “we” as in you and me) don’t know exactly how it works, but we’re pretty sure that something happens to everyone who has the operation. When they make you pretty, they also add these lesions (tiny scars, sort of) to your brain. It makes you different, and not in a good way. Look in the mirror, Tally. If you’re pretty, you’ve got them. (p. 84)

Of course, Tally does not remember writing this letter to herself, but they realise that they were right about the operation. As she continues to read, they discover that there is a cure, and taking the pills that were with the letter will fix her brain. I have only read that far so far, so I don’t know if she will take them. I thought this quotation was important in the book because it proves that the operation to make people pretty, messes with your brain and makes you forget your childhood life. It stood out to me because Tally couldn’t remember that she wrote that letter, and discovers she was right all along.

Sample IRJE #3: Block quotation without dialogue

Gordon Bowker’s James Joyce: A Biography describes a man who, though he may have been a great writer, was a terrible husband and father. In 1907 Joyce is 25 years old. He is living in Rome on a negligible salary as a bank clerk, supplemented by funds borrowed from his brother. He has a young son, and his wife is pregnant. He is constantly eluding creditors, falling behind in his rent, and moving his family from one shabby apartment to another. He decides to leave Rome, and gives notice to his employer. On his last day of work,

he drew a month’s salary (250 lire) at the bank and went on a farewell spree—a drunken adieu to the Eternal City, which he had come to consider ‘vulgar’ and ‘whorish.’ When [he was] suitably drunk, two congenial bar-flies took him to a backstreet and relieved him of his bulging wallet. He returned home penniless and completely soaked from an evening downpour. (p. 165)

Many have questioned the ethics of enjoying art created by people who have been misogynists, rapists, racists, or fascists, for example. It seems difficult to reconcile beautiful art with such ugly behaviour. In Joyce’s case, such questions have been asked, but in this instance the behaviour is not only bad, but stupid—and this raises a slightly different question. How is it possible for someone like Joyce—who read, wrote, and spoke several languages fluently, and whose work, whatever you think of it, is undeniably brilliant—how is it possible for such an obviously intelligent man to make such stupid choices? If intelligence did not save Joyce from making stupid choices, what about us? What can save us from making stupid choices?

Sample IRJE #1: “You reason like a block of cheese.”

In The Viscount of Bragelonne, by Alexander Dumas, the old soldier, d’Artagnan, proposes a business opportunity to Planchet, who was his squire in their younger days but who now owns a prosperous candy shop in Paris. D’Artagnan’s idea is to raise a small army and restore Charles II, rightful King of England, to his throne. Planchet is reluctant to invest without understanding more about d’Artagnan’s plans.

“Since you are proposing a business deal, I have the right to discuss it,” says Planchet.

“Discuss, Planchet; from discussion comes light.”

“Well then, since I have your permission, I would like to point out that in England they have, first of all, a Parliament.”

“Yes. And then?”

“And then, an Army.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“And then, the people themselves.”

“Is that all?”

“The people of England, who consented to the overthrow and execution of the late King, father of Charles II, will never agree to put the son back on the throne.”

“Planchet, my friend” said d’Artagnan, “you reason like a block of cheese.” (p. 417)

In French, the line is more beautiful: “Planchet, mon ami, tu raisonnes comme un fromage.” It made me laugh out loud the first time I read it, and it reminded me of something my French friend Christian said to me years ago when he noticed that I was wearing a new shirt: “Tu es beau comme un camion.” “You are as handsome as a truck.”

Sample IRJE #2: “We was attacked!”

In William Golding’s Lord of the Flies, a group of English school boys are evacuated by plane from a war zone, but the plane crashes on a remote tropical island, and the only adult with them—the pilot—is killed. Soon after they meet, Ralph and Piggy argue about what happened to the pilot of their airplane, and we see right away that Piggy is more of a thinker than Ralph:

“He must have flown off after he dropped us. He couldn’t land here. Not in a place with wheels.” 

“We was attacked!” 

“He’ll be back all right.”

The fat boy shook his head.

“When we was coming down I looked through one of them windows. I saw the other part of the plane. There were flames coming out of it.” (p. 8)

Whereas Ralph unthinkingly believes that everything will work out for the best (“’He’ll be back all right’”), Piggy has kept his eyes open during the crash and is brave enough to speak the frightening truth: there are no adults left to take care of them.