Edgar Allen Poe Essay example -- Biography Biographies Poe Author Essa

Edgar Allan Poe Edgar Allan Poe was born at 33 Hollis Street, Boston, Massachusetts, on January 19, 1809. Poe’s parents were struggling actors. His father deserted him, and his mother died of tuberculosis when he was three years old. Young Edgar was taken in by a wealthy tobacco exporter by the name of John Allan, from whom he took his middle name. Most of his early life was lived in Richmond, Virginia, with the exception of a five-year period when the Allan family lived in England. His life in England was described as rather uneventful. Poe, even in his early years, had a proficiency for writing poetry. When he moved back to Virginia, Poe grew attached to young girl in his neighborhood named Sarah Royster. They frequently visited, where they sang songs and drew pictures. They were secretly engaged at the time, although their intentions were not made known to the adults of either household (Allen 9). His mid-life began when Poe entered the University of Virginia in 1926. He withdrew less than a year later. Initially, his grades were brilliant, but soon thereafter they began to deteriorate. It is reported that Poe gambled heavily and owed large sums of money to various shopkeepers (Benet 34). He also began drinking quite heavily. Mr. Allan refused to pay Poe’s debts. He also broke off Poe’s engagement to Sarah Royster. Without any visible means to support himself, Poe left for Boston. In the spring of 1827, he arrived penniless and enlisted in the army under the name of Edgar A. Perry. In 1829, he was promoted to the rank of sergeant major. At his own request, was honorably discharged in April of 1829 (Gullete 5). Temporarily reconciled, Mr. Allan secured Poe an appointment to West Point. But still refused financial support. After six months, Poe purposely got himself discharged from West Point, by purposely neglecting his military duties and for disobedience of orders (Encarta [CD-ROM]). Poe then moved to New York, and with the help of some money raised by his West Point friends, he published his first poems in 1831. Poe next took up residence in Baltimore, with his widowed aunt, Maria Clemm, and her daughter, Virginia. He turned to fiction as a way to support himself. The Philadelphia Saturday Corrier published five of Poe’s stories. In 1883, one of his pieces won a fifty-dollar prize given by the Baltimore Sunday advisor (Regan 2,3). In 1... ...il in a story should contribute to the story. Words must not be wasted. Poe’s life was short. He died at the age of forty. He did not appear to waste a moment of his life. He moved from Boston, to Philadelphia, to New York, and to Richmond in the early 1800’s. He even spent five years in London, England. All of these experiences shape his odd life. All of his experiences in his lifetime, including the bad memories, reflected how he wrote his literature. The reader had to understand every aspect of his life to better understand his stories and poems. His writings have been teachings and inspirations for the authors today. Poe is one of the most famous authors in today’s world because of his odd tales, and his eerie life. Works Cited Abbey-Cormier. Magill’s Survey of American Literature New York Marshall Cavendish Corporation Benet, Laura. Young Edgar Allan Poe. New York Dodd, Mead and Company, 1966 Gullete, Alan. â€Å"In the Valley of the Shadow† http://www.creativnet.net/~alang/lit/horror/poebio.htm Microsoft Encarta. â€Å"Edgar Allan Poe† http://owleyes.org.htm Regan, Robert. â€Å"Poe, Edgar Allan {poh}† 27 March 2000 http://baud.ubik.ac.at/sg/poe/Bio.html 14 December 2000

Keys to a Good Education for Children Essays -- Education

The key and initial forces/factors that help children receive a good education are parents’ support, the child’s confidence, and the drive to learn. In The Joy of Reading and Writing: Superman and Me, Sherman Alexie demonstrates each characteristic, strives through obstacles and shines through it all. According to therapist, Anna Robinson, the first and key factor in children receiving a good education is parents’ support. Anna discovers that when children come into her office, one key initial common thing the children posse is lack of hearing their parents encourage what they are doing and not pushing them enough. For example, in The Joy of Reading and Writing: Superman and Me, Alexie’s dad doesn’t say anything but encourages Alexie with by collecting books from everywhere. Alexie taught himself how to read first by â€Å"reading† Superman comic books. Now the word reading has parentheses around it because Alexie looks at the pictures and assumes what Superman is doing and saying. â€Å"I look at the narrative above the picture. I cannot read the words†¦.. Aloud, I pretend to read t...

Christianity & the Revolutionary War :: essays research papers

Christianity and the American Revolutionary War Harry Stout points out in the lead article, How Preachers Incited Revolution, "it was Protestant clergy who propelled colonists toward independence and who theologically justified war with Britain" (n.pag). According to Cassandra Niemczyk in her article in this issue of Christian History "(the Protestant Clergy) were known as "the Black Regiment" (n.pag). Furthermore, as the article Holy Passion for Liberty shows, "Americans were quick to discern the hand of God in the tumultuous events of the times" (n.pag). Mark Galli, the editor of this issue says "many devout believers were opposed to the war, and not necessarily on pacifist grounds. Most colonial legislatures exempted pacifists, such as Quakers and Mennonites, from military duty although they were still fined to underwrite the expenses of the war" (n.pag). Stout goes on to say " Pacifist opposition to the war was concentrated in Pennsylvania. Quakers, Mennonites, and Amish refused to fight, and for their refusal were suppressed and humiliated like the royalists" (n.pag). Often the pacifists served in hospitals, tending to both British and American wounded. From these readings one can discern that Eighteenth-century America was a deeply religious culture. Sermons taught not only the way to personal salvation in Christ but also the way to temporal and national prosperity for God’s chosen people. Timothy D. Hall a professor at Central Michigan University in The American Revolution and the Religious Public Sphere gives us this overview: "Religion played other important roles in mobilizing support for Revolution regardless of whether it was evangelical or not. Colonists often encountered Revolutionary themes for the first time when local ministers announced the latest news from the pulpit or when parishioners exchanged information after Sunday meetings. Ministers occupied an important place in the colonial communications network throughout the eighteenth century, especially in towns where few people had access to newspapers and official information was dispensed from the pulpit or lectern. Sunday afternoons provided a convenient time for men who had already gathered for worship to form militia units and drill, and many ministers used their sermons to motivate the minutemen. Israel Litchfield, a young Massachusetts minuteman, recorded that his local minister keyed Biblical texts and sermon themes to the great events of 1 775. In Virginia's Shenandoah Valley the Lutheran minister John Peter Gabriel Muhlenberg concluded a Sunday sermon of 1775 by throwing back his ministerial robe to reveal a military uniform, rolling the drum for Patriot recruits, and leading them out for drill.

Literary Essay Essay

Nothing says adventure like running away from villains and getting shot at to start a career as a spy. Though many townspeople of Cumberland in Geoffrey Treases Cue for Treason think Peter Brownrigg is the best of the best, it is clear that not many people inherit the qualities to become a good spy. Katherine Russel is an exception. Kit is courageous and secretive, and therefor is the best spy in Cumberland. To begin, courage is one Kits most striking characteristics. Although it is shown throughout the book on many occasions, by a couple characters, it tells us that she is a brave person. One example of this was when the miners tried to block the road so they could rob the two, but they failed. This happened because kit was able to be courageous affectively, at the right time. â€Å"So she rode back. Heroine or idiot? I didn’t know. I’m flattered to know that, for the moment, she was thinking more of my fate† (Trease 253) said Peter Brownrigg after Kit turned to save him. Katherine was able to get away on her horse when peter was unable to. Katherine was being very courageous risking her own life for that of her friends when faced with a dangerous situation. When Mr. Desmond fell into a river with his horse Katherine was one of the first people to jump in and save him. As peter said himself â€Å"She swam like an otter, and I saw at once that I needn’t fear for her anymore, than myself† (90). Jumping into a river to save someone who is injured must be the biggest act of courage and bravery. Again she risks her life for that of someone else’s and returns unscathed. She also risked revealing her secret when she changed from her wet clothes. The last point would be when Kit manages to find out Mr.  Armthwaite is actually a friend of Sir Philip Morten. Courage is shown here when she threatens him and jumps out of a window with Peter. â€Å"If you touch that bell cord† said Kit â€Å"you’ll get something that will upset you still more† (229). Mr. Armthwaite is left dumbfounded that she found this out. The courage is shown here when she finds it in herself to pull out her gun and start accusing Mr. Armthwaite of being on Cahoots with Sir Philip Morten. These are the parts of the book that show she is courageous which is as to why she is the best spy in Cumberland. Next, Kit shows how she is very secretive and protective about her life and about how many things people know about her. The main secret she is keeping from everyone is that she is a girl. She does not relize it but all the other child actors, at the time, were angry because she did not participate in any of their games or activities that would show her true identity. â€Å"Kit showed no special interest in me –or anyone else, for he lived a strange aloof existence† (75) said Peter when he was discovering and questioning who kit was â€Å"Who was Kit Kirkstone? † (74). This is an important part of the book because it gives Peter an idea that he is actually a she. It also shows that she was able to keep her secret for that long already. Another good way she was being secretive was the way she never told anyone bout Sir Philip Morton or what he was going to do to her. This was shown when Kit spills the beans on her past life including the arranged marriage with Sir Philip â€Å" I pity the man who marries you against your will† (114) chuckled Shakespeare. The way the other characters react when this is told is surprisingly believable (shocked and surprised). This is so because Sir Philip Morton is also the man chasing peter. Katherine was also able to keep this a secret till this part of the book. The Last point would be when Kit tells Mr. Desmond she is actually a boy. Mr. Desmond is one of the many people who believed this throughout most of the book. After giving Mr. Desmond a fake name, Katherine is allowed into the actors group after showing some talent â€Å"Kirkstone will pass† sighed Desmond. This is shows how good she is at lying. Kit had no choice to lie to Mr. Desmond because he would have not let her act if she found out she was a girl. Mr.  Desmond would have put her on backstage with his wife Mrs. Desmond. Considering all the points that were shown throughout the book on Kits secrecy and true identity, it’s safe to say that she is the best spy in Cumberland. In conclusion, courageous and secretive are just two of the many words to describe Katherine Russel, which shows she is the best spy in Cumberland. Through the acts and demonstrations given by Katherine Russel, it is obvious she should continue down the path that she has chosen, but when shown again, is the life of a spy an appropriate one? Appropriate for a twelve year old girl?

Characters in Great Expectations Essay

In this first extract there are many hidden connections between the characters and the settings. The first connection is when Pip the narrator describes the graveyard. He describes it as a â€Å"bleak place overgrown with nettles†. The word bleak alone reflects many characters feelings. The word bleak may perhaps represent how Pip feels about the place he has to mourn for his family and how he is in disbelief that a place of death and rebirth could be so uncared for. I think this uncaring for the graveyard is a strong reflection of Pips character, as he himself is uncared for. It could also symbolize Pip’s life so far as being miserable and empty and never having anything to look forward to. However I think the main thing the word bleak is trying to signify is the â€Å"fearful man† Magwitch. This convict’s life will be bleak even he does not go back to prison. This is because he has no option, no friends or family and he is alone in the world. Pip the narrator describes the area surrounding the churchyard as a â€Å"dark flat wilderness†. This quote is another representation of Pip’s life . The word â€Å"dark† indicates Pip’s past and how it is dark and cloudy as he does not know anything about it. The word â€Å"flat† signifies Pip’s life at the moment as being straight forward and plain with nothing changing and the word wilderness representing Magwitch and how Magwitch is going to change Pip’s future from flat and straight forward to wild andchanging. The quote also may represent Pip’s existence as he has always been alone, never knowing any of his family apart from his sister. Furthermore the fact that Pip is alone in this harsh abandoned environment makes the area more scary and dangerous. So when Dickens refers to Pip as a â€Å"small bundle of shivers† it creates an image in the readers mind of Pip curled up all alone in this â€Å"overgrown† â€Å"wilderness† which I think increases the readers sorrow for Pip. Moreover the word â€Å"bundle† emphasises how small Pip is which may increase the readers sorrow for Pip even more. This atmosphere created by Dickens gives a good entrance for the character Magwitch. Magwitch is mirrored through the landscape and the words Dickens uses so that he is not only created through words but from the settings. The words and settings that are used to emphasise Magwitch are mainly employed to dehumanise Magwitch so that he seems more like a monster then a man. Magwitch is first introduced at the graveyard, where he scares Pip not only with his words but with his image. This is shown before Magwitch is even introduced into the play by the narrator. The narrator refers to a wind rushing from a â€Å"savage lair†. I think this wind from the savage lair is Magwitch and how he is being blown ever closer to Pip. I also think that the word â€Å"savage† could be referring to the prison Magwitch was in. As it shows the fact that a prison is a place for savages. This idea increases the reader’s view of Magwitch making him more of a beast then a man. The assumption that Magwicth is a beast is also supported by the fact that Dickens followed â€Å"savage† with the word â€Å"lair† the word lair is mainly used to describe an animal’s home which enhances the idea of Magwitch being an animal. I think Dickens does this to dehumanise Magwitch further and also to create an image in the readers mind just before Magwitch is introduced into the extract. Magwitch is an escaped convict which makes his options â€Å"bleak† that’s why I think he ends up at the graveyard because if your options are â€Å"bleak† you usually only have the worst choices to choose from. The word â€Å"overgrown† suggests how Magwitch is out of control which makes him more like a wild monster. In addition the word â€Å"nettles â€Å"could be representing Magwitch being sharp, painful and dangerous. These quotes show that nature has personified Magwitch into a wild beast. When Magwitch is first described by the narrator, one of the first things that he is described as is â€Å"a man with no hat†. I think this is said because in the times of Great Expectations gentleman usually wore top hats. Dickens is trying to show that Magwitch is no gentleman. At the end of extract one Magwitch asks Pip where his village lies. This I think has a small reference to Mr and Mrs Gargery, as they both are included as the â€Å"village† that Pip points to when Magwicth threatens him in the Graveyard. The village â€Å"lay inshore among the alder trees,†. As a result of this quote we draw together the image of a peaceful village. This quote illustrates the meaning of the word â€Å"lay† as this one word indicates that the village was asleep and unaware of Magwitch’s presence. This extract shows how well the settings of Great Expectations not only contribute to the story but to the characters emotions as well. Extract two takes place in Satis House. This old outdated building creates the feelings and atmosphere for this extract. The extract begins with Pip describing the room he is in and giving us an image of what it looks like. Pip then meets Miss Havisham and refers to her as the â€Å"strangest† thing he has ever seen. Miss Havisham talks to Pip about herself and gives him a brief outline of her past telling Pip how she has never seen the sun since she was left at the alter by her husband. After this Pip meets Miss Havisham’s daughter Estella. Estella and Pip play the card game â€Å"beggar† while they are playing. Estella insults Pip by saying that his hands are all coarse. The extract ends with Pip leaving Satis house and then releasing his hatred towards Estella by kicking a wall while he cries. Extract two on a whole fits into Great Expectations as the Part of the novel that misleads the reader so that the reader thinks that Miss Havisham is the mysterious benefactor who gives Pip money so that he can move to London to become a gentleman. I think Dickens does this to try and remove the character Magwitch from the readers mind so that the reader will not even in the slightest think that Magwitch is Pip’s benefactor and that Magwitch role in Great Expectations has ended. However even though Charles Dickens does this, he still leaves a presence of Magwitch in the novel. This presence comes from the character Estella. Estella just like Magwitch is sprung onto Pip. Magwitch is sprung onto Pip in the literal sense as he just jumps out at Pip scaring him. In comparison Estella is released onto Pip in another way. Pip who finds Estella â€Å"pretty† is just sprung by the insults and â€Å"distain† she shows towards him. The settings in extract two mainly represent the character Miss Havisham showing why she lives her life the way she does and exposing her past to the reader. The character Miss Havisham is not exactly a very believable character as no one in their right mind would live there life the way she does just because they were left at the alter. However even though she is not a very realistic creation from Charles Dickens she is certainly one of the most interesting characters of the novel. Miss Havisham’s whole life is defined by the single catastrophic event of her being left at the alter. From that moment forth, Miss Havisham is determined never to move beyond that day. She stops all the clocks in Satis House at twenty minutes to nine, the moment when she first learned that her future husband was gone. Extract two begins with Pip the narrator describing what the room Pip is in looks like. The room is described as a â€Å"pretty large† room well lit with â€Å"wax candles†. It is also said that the room does not even have a â€Å"glimpse of sunlight. † These quotes create the atmosphere of the room which make it seem mysterious and depressing. In addition these quotes reveal a lot about the character Miss Havisham. The quote a â€Å"glimpse of sunlight† is not only saying that room does not even have a glimpse of sunlight it is also reflecting things about Miss Havisham showing how she herself is the one without a glimpse of sunlight. The fact that Miss Havisham is keeping herself from the sunlight (the sunlight I believe could represent the public) suggests that she is trying to keep her past from the sunlight by staying in the dark. Sunlight is often associated with bliss and happiness. As there is no sunlight in the room it emphasises her life as being unhappy.

Orientation day at Seneca

This article is based on students who participated in Seneca College Orientation. It was a big success because everyone learned so much about their courses and everyone had fun. This orientation was for new students attending Seneca College, there are different departments of studies that were introduced. First, the president of Seneca College, David Jones welcomed students by his speech then after that, the president had every student in every department come up on the stage so that he could personally welcome everyone and give the students a pin.Along with some of the board members, everyone shook hands and personally greeted each other a welcome aboard greeting. Everyone was amazed by the start of this formal ceremony. After the welcome greeting, the president introduced Ms. Erin Grant, Alumni and also the Valedictorian of her school year. She was thrilled to be called on to greet the new students. She shared some quotes to encourage the new students and told them not to worry abo ut negative things because hard work is the key to success. It created a nice atmosphere among the students, because it took some pressure off their shoulders.After she delivered her lovely speech, the president and the board members left the gymnasium while the students remained in their seats waiting for their department of study to be called down so that they can meet with the faculty members so that they can discuss further details about the courses with their future students. The faculty discussed what the courses were about and what the expectations on each of them were. They gave out a lot of informations to help the students know what they are entering into. The discussion ended and everyone enjoyed a delicious lunch on Seneca grounds. It was an unforgettable Orientation day at Seneca.

Fool Chapter 6

SIX FRIENDSHIP AND THE ODD BONK Life is loneliness, broken only by the gods taunting us with friendship and the odd bonk. I admit it, I grieved. Perhaps I am a fool to have expected Cordelia to stay. (Well, yes, I am a fool – don't be overly clever, eh? It's annoying.) But for most of my manly years she had been the lash on my back, the bait to my loins, and the balm of my imagination – my torment, my tonic, my fever, my curse. I ache for her. There is no comfort in the castle. Drool gone, Taster gone, Lear gone mad. At best, Drool was little more company than Jones, and decidedly less portable, but I worry for him, great child that he is, stumbling about in the circle of so many villains and so much sharp metal. I miss his gape-toothed smile, filled as it was with forgiveness, acceptance, and often, cheddar. And Taster, what did I know of him, really? Just a wan lad from Hog Nostril on Thames. Yet when I needed a sympathetic ear, he provided, even if he was oft distracted from my woes by his own selfish dietary concerns. I lay on my bed in the portislodge staring out the cruciform arrow loops at the grey bones of London, stewing in my misery, yearning for my friends. For my first friend. For Thalia. The anchoress. On a chill autumn day at Dog Snogging, the third time I was allowed to bring food to the anchoress, we became fast friends. I was still in awe of her, and merely being in her presence made me feel base, unworthy, and profane, but in a good way. I passed the plate of rough brown bread and cheese through the cross in the wall with prayers and a plea for her forgiveness. â€Å"This fare will do, Pocket. It will do. I'll forgive you for a song.† â€Å"You must be a most pious lady and have great love for the Lord.† â€Å"The Lord is a tosser.† â€Å"I thought the Lord was a shepherd?† â€Å"Well, that, too. But a bloke needs hobbies. Do you know ‘Greensleeves'?† â€Å"I know ‘Dona Nobis Pacem.'† â€Å"Do you know any pirate songs?† â€Å"I could sing ‘Dona Nobis Pacem' like a pirate.† â€Å"It means give us peace, in Latin, doesn't it?† â€Å"Aye, mistress.† â€Å"Bit of a stretch then, innit, a pirate singing give us bloody peace?† â€Å"I suppose. I could sing you a psalm, then, mistress.† â€Å"All right, then, Pocket, a psalm it is – one with pirates and loads of bloodshed, if you have it.† I was nervous, desperate for approval from the anchoress, and afraid that if I displeased her I might be struck down by an avenging angel, as seemed to happen often in scripture. Try as I might, I could not recall any piraty psalms. I cleared my throat and sang the only psalm I knew in English: â€Å"The Lord is my tosser, I shall not want – â€Å" â€Å"Wait, wait, wait,† said the anchoress. â€Å"Doesn't it go, ‘the Lord is my shepherd'?† â€Å"Well, yes, mistress, but you said – â€Å" And she started to laugh. It was the first time I heard her truly laugh and it felt as if I was getting approval from the Virgin herself. In the dark chamber, just the single candle on my side of the cross, it seemed like her laughter was all around me, embracing me. â€Å"Oh, Pocket, you are a love. Thick as a bloody brick, but such a love.† I could feel the blood rise in my face. I was proud and embarrassed and ecstatic all at once. I didn't know what to do, so I fell to my knees and prostrated myself before the arrow loop, pushing my cheek against the stone floor. â€Å"I'm sorry, mistress.† She laughed some more. â€Å"Arise, Sir Pocket of Dog Snogging.† I climbed to my feet and stared into the dark cross-shaped hole in the wall, and there I saw that dull star that was her eye reflecting the candle flame and I realized that there were tears in my own eyes. â€Å"Why did you call me that?† â€Å"Because you make me laugh and you are deserving and valiant. I think we're going to be very good friends.† I started to ask her what she meant, but the iron latch clanked and the door into the passageway swung slowly open. Mother Basil was there, holding a candelabra, looking displeased. â€Å"Pocket, what's going on here?† said the mother superior in her gruff baritone. â€Å"Nothing, Reverend Mother. I've just given food to the anchoress.† Mother Basil seemed reluctant to enter the passageway, as if she was afraid to be in view of the arrow loop that looked into the anchoress's chamber. â€Å"Come along, Pocket. It's time for evening prayers.† I bowed quickly to the anchoress and hurried out the door under Mother Basil's arm. As the sister closed the door, the anchoress called, â€Å"Reverend Mother, a moment, please.† Mother Basil's eyes went wide and she looked as if she'd been called out by the devil. â€Å"Go on to vespers, Pocket. I'll be along.† She made her way into the dead-end passageway and closed the door behind her even as the bell calling us to vespers began to toll. I wondered what the anchoress would discuss with Mother Basil, perhaps some conclusion she had realized during her hours of prayer, perhaps I had been found wanting and she would ask that I not be sent to her again. After just making my first friend, I was sorely afraid of losing her. While I repeated the prayers in Latin after the priest, in my heart I prayed to God to not take my anchoress away, and when mass ended, I stayed in the chapel and prayed until well after the midnight prayers. Mother Basil found me in the chapel. â€Å"There are going to be some changes, Pocket.† I felt my spirit drop into my shoe soles. â€Å"Forgive me, Reverend Mother, for I know not what I do.† â€Å"What are you on about, Pocket? I'm not scolding you. I'm adding duties to your devotion.† â€Å"Oh,† said I. â€Å"From now on, you are to take food and drink to the anchoress in the hour before vespers, and there in the outer chamber, shall you sit until she has eaten, but upon the bell for vespers you are to leave there, and not return until the next day. No longer than an hour shall you stay, do you understand?† â€Å"Yes, mum, but why only the hour?† â€Å"More than that and you will interfere with the anchoress's own communion with God. Further, you are never to ask her about where she was before this, about her family, or her past in any way. If she should speak of these things you are to immediately put your fingers in your ears, and verily sing ‘la, la, la, la, I can't hear you, I can't hear you,' and leave the chamber immediately.† â€Å"I can't do that, mum.† â€Å"Why not?† â€Å"I can't work the latch to the outer door with my fingers in my ears.† â€Å"Ah, sweet Pocket, I do so love your wit. I think you shall sleep on the stone floor this night, the rug shields you from the blessed cooling of your fevered imagination, which God finds an abomination. Yes, a light beating and the bare stone for you and your wit tonight.† â€Å"Yes, mum.† â€Å"And so, you must never speak with the anchoress about her past, and if you should, you shall be excommunicated and damned for all eternity with no hope for redemption, the light of the Lord shall never fall upon you, and you shall live in darkness and pain for ever and ever. And in addition, I shall have Sister Bambi feed you to the cat.† â€Å"Yes, mum,† said I. I was so thrilled I nearly peed. I would be blessed by the glory of the anchoress every single day. â€Å"Well that's a scaly spot o' snake wank,† said the anchoress. â€Å"No, mum, it's a cracking big cat.† â€Å"Not the cat, the hour a day. Only an hour a day?† â€Å"Mother Basil doesn't want me to disturb your communion with God, Madame Anchoress.† I bowed before the dark arrow loop. â€Å"Call me Thalia.† â€Å"I daren't, mum. And neither may I ask you about your past or from whence you come. Mother Basil has forbidden it.† â€Å"She's right on that, but you may call me Thalia, as we are friends.† â€Å"Aye, mum. Thalia.† â€Å"And you may tell me of your past, good Pocket. Tell me of your life.† â€Å"But, Dog Snogging is all I know – all I have ever known.† I could hear her laughing in the dark. â€Å"Then, tell me a story from your lessons, Pocket.† So I told the anchoress of the stoning of St. Stephen, of the persecution of St. Sebastian, and the beheading of St. Valentine, and she, in turn, told me stories of the saints I had never heard of in catechism. â€Å"And so,† said Thalia, â€Å"that is the story of how St. Rufus of Pipe-wrench was licked to death by marmots.† â€Å"That sounds a most horrible martyring,† said I. â€Å"Aye,† said the anchoress, â€Å"for marmot spit is the most noxious of all substances, and that is why St. Rufus is the patron of saliva and halitosis unto this day. Enough martyring, tell me of some miracles.† And so I did. I told of the magic, self-filling milk pail of St. Bridgid of Kildare, of how St. Fillan, after his ox was killed by a wolf, was able to compel the same wolf to pull a cart full of materials for building a church, and how St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland. â€Å"Aye,† said Thalia, â€Å"and snakes have been grateful ever since. But let me apprise you of the most wondrous miracle of how St. Cinnamon drove the Mazdas out of Swinden.† â€Å"I've never heard of St. Cinnamon,† said I. â€Å"Well, that is because these nuns at Dog Snogging are base and not worthy to know such things, and why you must never share what you learn here with them lest they become overwhelmed and succumb to an ague.† â€Å"An ague of over-piety?† â€Å"Aye, lad, and you will be the one to have killed them.† â€Å"Oh, I would never want to do that.† â€Å"Of course you wouldn't. Did you know, in Portugal they canonize a saint by actually shooting him out of a cannon?† And so it went, day in, day out, week in, week out, trading secrets and lies with Thalia. You might think that it was cruel of her to spend her only time in contact with the outside world telling lies to a little boy, but then, the first story that Mother Basil had told me was about a talking snake who gave tainted fruit to naked people, and the bishop had made her an abbess. All along what Thalia was teaching me was how to entertain her. How to share a moment in story and laughter – how you could become close to someone, even when separated from them by a stone wall. Once a month for the first two years the bishop came from York to check on the anchoress, and she would seem to lose her spirit for a day, as if he were skimming it off and taking it away, but soon she would recover and our routine of chat and laughter would go on. After a few years the bishop stopped coming, and I was afraid to ask Mother Basil why, lest it be a reminder and the dour prelate resume his spirit-sucking sojourns. The longer the anchoress was in her chamber, the more she delighted in my conveying the most mundane details from the outside. â€Å"Tell me of the weather today, Pocket. Tell me of the sky, and don't skip a single cloud.† â€Å"Well, the sky looked like someone was catapulting giant sheep into the frosty eye of God.† â€Å"Fucking winter. Crows against the sky?† â€Å"Aye, Thalia, like a vandal with quill and ink set loose to randomly punctuate the very dome of day.† â€Å"Ah, well spoken, love, completely incoherent imagery.† â€Å"Thank you, mistress.† While about my chores and studies I tried to take note of every detail and construct metaphors in my head so I might paint word pictures for my anchoress, who depended on me to be her light and color. My days seemed to begin at four when I came to Thalia's chamber, and end at five, when the bell rang for vespers. Everything before was in preparation for that hour, and everything after, until sleep, was in sweet remembrance. The anchoress taught me how to sing – not just the hymns and chants I had been singing from the time I was little, but the romantic songs of the troubadours. With simple, patient instruction, she taught me how to dance, juggle, and perform acrobatics, and all by verbal description – not once in those years had I laid eyes on the anchoress, or seen more than her partial profile at the arrow loop. I grew older and fuzz sprouted on my cheek – my voice broke, making me sound as if a small goose was trapped in my gullet, honking for her supper. The nuns at Dog Snogging started to take notice of me as something other than their pet, for many were sent to the abbey when they were no older than I. They would flirt and ask me for a song, a poem, a story, the more bawdy the better, and the anchoress had taught me many of those. Where she had learned them, she would never say. â€Å"Were you an entertainer before you became a nun?† â€Å"No, Pocket. And I am not a nun.† â€Å"But, perhaps your father – â€Å" â€Å"No, my father was not a nun either.† â€Å"I mean, was he an entertainer?† â€Å"Sweet Pocket, you mustn't ask about my life before I came here. What I am now, I have always been, and everything I am is here with you.† â€Å"Sweet Thalia,† said I. â€Å"That is a fiery flagon of dragon toss.† â€Å"Isn't it, though?† â€Å"You're grinning, aren't you?† She held the candle close to the arrow loop, illuminating her wry smile. I laughed, and reached through the cross to touch her cheek. She sighed, took my hand and pressed it hard against her lips, then, in an instant, she had pushed my hand away and moved out of the light. â€Å"Don't hide,† said I. â€Å"Please don't hide.† â€Å"Fat lot of choice I have about whether I hide or not. I live in a bloody tomb.† I didn't know what to say. Never before had she complained about her choice to become the anchoress of Dog Snogging, even if other expressions of her faith seemed – well – abstract. â€Å"I mean don't hide from me. Let me see you.† â€Å"You want to see? You want to see?† I nodded. â€Å"Give me your candles.† She had me hand four lit candles through the arrow loop. Whenever I performed for her she had me set them in holders around the outer chamber so she could see me dance, or juggle, or do acrobatics, but never had she asked for more than one candle in her own chamber. She placed the candles around her chamber and for the first time I could see the stone pallet where she slept on a mattress of straw, her meager possessions laid out on a heavy table, and Thalia, standing there in a tattered linen frock. â€Å"Look,† she said. She pulled her frock over her head and dropped it on the floor. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. She looked younger than I had imagined, thin, but womanly – her face was that of a mischievous Madonna, as if carved by a sculptor inspired more by desire than the divine. Her hair was long and the color of buckskin, catching the candlelight as if a single ray of sunlight might make it explode in golden fire. I felt a heat rise in my face, and another kind of rise in my trousers. I was excited and confused and ashamed all at once, and I turned my back on the arrow loop and cried out. â€Å"No!† Suddenly, she was right behind me, and I felt her hand on my shoulder, then rubbing my neck. â€Å"Pocket. Sweet Pocket, don't. It's all right.† â€Å"I feel like the Devil and the Virgin are doing battle in my body. I didn't know you were like that.† â€Å"Like a woman, you mean?† Her hand was warm and steady, kneading the muscles in my shoulder through the cross in the wall and I leaned into it. I wanted to turn and look, I wanted to run out of the chamber, I wanted to be asleep, or just waking – ashamed that the Devil had visited me in the night with a damp dream of temptation. â€Å"You know me, Pocket. I'm your friend.† â€Å"But you are the anchoress.† â€Å"I'm Thalia, your friend, who loves you. Turn around, Pocket.† And I did. â€Å"Give me your hand,† said she. And I did. She put it on her body, and she put her hands on mine, and pressed against the cold stone. Through the cross in the wall, I discovered a new universe – of Thalia's body, of my body, of love, of passion, of escape – and it was a damn sight better than bloody chants and juggling. When the bell rang for vespers we fell away from the cross, spent and gasping, and we began to laugh. Oh, and I had chipped a tooth. â€Å"One for the Devil, then, love?† said Thalia. When I arrived with the anchoress's supper the next afternoon she was waiting with her face pressed nearly through the center of the arrow cross – she looked like one of the angel-faced gargoyles that flanked the main doors of Dog Snogging, except they always seemed to be weeping and she was grinning. â€Å"So, didn't go to confession today, did you?† I shuddered. â€Å"No, mum, I worked in the scriptorium most of the day.† â€Å"Pocket, I think I would prefer you not call me mum, if it's not too much to ask. Given the new level of our friendship it seems – oh, I don't know – unsavory.† â€Å"Yes, m – uh – mistress.† â€Å"Mistress I can work with. Now, pass me my supper and see if you can fit your face in the opening the way that I have.† Thalia's cheekbones were wedged in the arrow loop, which was little wider than my hand. â€Å"Doesn't that hurt?† I'd been finding abrasions on my arms and various bits all day from our adventure the night before. â€Å"It's not the flaying of St. Bart, but, yes, it stings a bit. You can't confess what we did, or what we do, love? You know that, right?† â€Å"Then am I going to have to go to hell?† â€Å"Well – † She pulled back, rolled her eyes as if searching the ceiling for an answer. † – not alone. Give us our supper, lad, and get your face in the loop, I have something to teach you.† And so it went for weeks and months. I went from being a mediocre acrobat to a talented contortionist, and Thalia seemed to regain some of the life that I had thought sure she'd lost. She was not holy in the sense that the priests and nuns taught, but she was full of spirit and a different kind of reverence. More concerned with this life, this moment, than an eternity beyond the reach of the cross in the wall. I adored her, and I wanted her to be out of the chamber, in the world, with me, and I began to plan her escape. But I was but a boy, and she was bloody barking, so it was not meant to be. â€Å"I've stolen a chisel from a mason who passed by on his way to work on the minster at York. It will take some time, but if you work on a single stone, you might escape in summer.† â€Å"You are my escape, Pocket. The only escape I can ever allow myself.† â€Å"But we could run off, be together.† â€Å"That would be smashing, except I can't leave. So, hop up and get your tackle in the cross. Thalia's a special treat for you.† I never seemed to make my point once my tackle went in the cross. Distracted, I was. But I learned, and while I was forbidden confession – and to tell the truth, I didn't feel that badly about it – I began to share what I had learned. â€Å"Thalia, I must confess to you, I have told Sister Nikki about the little man in the boat.† â€Å"Really? Told her or showed her?† â€Å"Well, showed her, I reckon. But she seems a bit thick. She kept making me show her over and over – asked me to meet her in the cloisters to show her again after vespers tonight.† â€Å"Ah, the joy of being slow. Still, it's a sin to be selfish with one's knowledge.† â€Å"That's what I thought,† said I, relieved. â€Å"And speaking of the little man in the boat, I believe there is one on this side of the loop who has been naughty and requires a thorough tongue-lashing.† â€Å"Aye, mistress,† said I, wedging my cheeks into the arrow loop. â€Å"Present the rascal for punishment.† And so it went. I was the only person I knew who had calluses on his cheekbones, but I had also developed the arms and grip of a blacksmith from suspending myself with my fingertips wedged between the great stones to extend my bits through the arrow loop. And thus I hung, spread spiderlike across the wall, my business being tended to, frantic and friendly, by the anchoress, when the bishop entered the antechamber. (The bishop entered the antechamber? The bishop entered the antechamber? At this point you're going coy on us, euphemizing about parts and positions when you've already confessed to mutual violation with a holy woman through a bloody arrow slot? Well, no.) The actual sodding Bishop of Bloody York entered the sodding antechamber with Mother sodding Basil, who bore a brace of sodding storm lanterns. And so I let go. Unfortunately, Thalia did not. It appeared that her grip, too, had been strengthened by our encounters on the wall. â€Å"What the hell are you doing, Pocket?† said the anchoress. â€Å"What are you doing?† asked Mother Basil. I hung there, more or less suspended to the wall by three points, one of them not covered by shoes. â€Å"Ahhhhhhhhh!† said I. I was finding it somewhat difficult to think. â€Å"Give us a little slack, lad,† said Thalia. â€Å"This is meant to be more of a dance, not a tug-of-war.† â€Å"The bishop is out here,† said I. She laughed. â€Å"Well, tell him to get in the queue and I'll tend to him when we're finished.† â€Å"No, Thalia, he's really out here.† â€Å"Oh toss,† said she, releasing my knob. I fell to the floor and quickly rolled onto my stomach. Thalia's face was at the arrow loop. â€Å"Evening, your grace.† A big grin there. â€Å"Fancy a spot of stony bonking before vespers?† The bishop turned so quickly his miter went half-past on his head. â€Å"Hang him,† he said. He snatched one of Mother Basil's lanterns and walked out of the chamber. â€Å"Bloody brown bread you serve tastes like goat scrotum!† Thalia called after. â€Å"A lady deserves finer fare!† â€Å"Thalia, please,† I said. â€Å"Not a comment on you, Pocket. Your serving style is lovely, but the bread is rubbish.† Then to Mother Basil. â€Å"Don't blame the boy, Reverend Mother, he's a love.† Mother Basil grabbed me by the ear and dragged me out of the chamber. â€Å"You're a love, Pocket,† said the anchoress. Mother Basil locked me in a closet in her chambers, then mid-way through the night, opened the door and handed in a crust of bread and a chamber pot. â€Å"Stay here until the bishop is on his way in the morning, and if anyone asks, you've been hung.† â€Å"Yes, Reverend Mother,† said I. She came to get me the next morning and hustled me out through the chapel. I'd never seen her so distraught. â€Å"You've been like a son to me, Pocket,† she said, fussing about me, strapping a satchel and other bits of kit on me. â€Å"So it's going to pain me to send you off.† â€Å"But, Reverend Mother – â€Å" â€Å"Hush, lad. We'll take you to the barn, hang you in front of a few farmers, then you're off to the south to meet up with a group of mummers[21] who will take you in.† â€Å"Beggin' pardon, mum, but if I'm hung, what will mummers do with me, a puppet show?† â€Å"I'll not really hang you, just make it look good. We have to, lad, the bishop ordered it.† â€Å"Since when does the bishop order nuns to hang people?† â€Å"Since you shagged the anchoress, Pocket.† At the mention of her I broke away from Mother Basil, ran through the abbey, down the old corridor and into the antechamber. The arrow cross was gone, completely bricked up and mortared in. â€Å"Thalia! Thalia!† I called. I screamed and beat the stones until my fists bled, but not a sound came from the other side of the wall. Ever. The sisters pulled me away, tied my hands, and took me to the barn where I was hanged.