I have a rather peculiar habit of reading books written by muggles. I learned to be very good at hiding books under pillows, behind curtains, and in other unseemly places; having a mother who hates books really gives one a lot of practice on book hiding. I brought several of my favorites from home; unfortunately, due to the wizard-made flood from last month, I was only able to save one book; Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451. This is one of the few books that have managed to keep me up all night.
Fahrenheit 451 is a criticism of muggles by a muggle. The book is set in a futuristic muggle society in which people lived an overstimulated life; people drove too fast for the fun of it, watched too much TV, and hated books. Books were so hated that each community had firemen whose job was to burn all the books in town. Mindlessly watching TV all day while burning books and punishing those who read them - my mother and brother would love that. Oh, they would have been so happy to see my door broken down and my books up in flames. To them, reading and all sorts of intellectual activities mean trouble. Plus, they would have roared in laughter as I sprint from the Mechanical Hound. "Finally," I imagined my mother saying, "you'll get some exercise."
I was able to dry my copy of Fahrenheit 451 by the window unseen while my other housemates pranced around the common room. Water, however, had transformed the book even after it has left the pages. The pages were stiff and wavy like the sides of dry lasagna pieces. The cover had fallen off from the water and from previous readings, and now I was reading a book without a name - which meant it was perfect for stealth reading. I walked into the Common Room, threw a few furtive glances, and took a seat at one of the brand new couches; thankfully, an alumna had donated these to replace the ones burnt in the fire. I cloaked myself with a blanket just in case.
The character from this book that I've grown to love is Guy Montag, a true Gryffindor at heart. I usually don't care for stubborn protagonists, but Montag is an exception. Although many times he lets his passions get the best of him, his heart burns for knowledge, and he has the strength of his convictions to stand up for what he believes in even in such a repressive society. He feels and acts before he thinks, which is not necessarily a bad thing; his feelings lead him to the joy of reading books as well as the realization that he must act in order to bring books and the joy within them back into his society. Someone has got to give props for someone who is willing to lose his job and his life in order to stand up for the truth.
I identify with and, dare I say, look up to Montag not only is his home situation similar to mine, but also he has the willpower to do what I cannot. He comes home, hears the immature and empty conversation in his living room, turns on the TV in front of his wife and her friends, and reads them a book, knowing that it would very well get him in trouble. I come home, hear an immature and empty conversation downstairs, then run to my room and, in the corner of the house away from others' sight, start to read a book. He steals books from houses that he is assigned to burn and hides them in his own house. I don't have to deal with people burning books in my house, and I cower at the my mother's threat to throw away all my books. Apparently books are so unholy in my house that they cannot be kept in my mother's view. Montag, however, has to hide the books in the vents of his house to keep them from being discovered and burnt .
Perhaps the most poignant scene in the book is when Montag's fire boss, Captain Beatty, discovers that Montag has been hiding books. If Montag were a Gryffindor, Clarisse a Hufflepuff, and Faber a Ravenclaw, Beatty would be a Slytherin - with sincere apologies to my friends in the Slytherin house. Beatty is sarcastic and manipulative and spends most of the book trying to project feelings of his own discontent with books onto Montag. Not only does Beatty psychologically torment Montag at the firehouse, but he also orders Montag to burn down his own house. Beatty's words say one thing but his body does another. He proudly says that he loves to burn books, but from the way he talks - he quotes flawlessly from several works of literature in one speech - he betrays the fact that he reads books. Beatty tries to get the best of Montag by forcing Montag to burn down his own house alone before arresting Montag and sending him to jail. Beatty then discovers that Montag had a piece of technology he was using to listen to one of his new book-loving friends, and for a second, it seems that both Montag's and his friend's lives are in jeopardy.
Montag, however, gets the best of Beatty and burns him with a blast from his flamethrower. This is the part of the book when I jump out of my hiding place and cheer. Oh, you thought Montag was done, but no no no, the cat-and-dog game is still on. The Mechanical Hound, a so-called perfect police attack dog, chases after Montag. Montag feels a drugged needle enter his skin. I cringe as if the needle entered my own leg, and then I breath a sigh of relief as Montag shoots fire at the Mechanical Hound. He runs away while dragging a stunned leg through strangers' alleys, streets filled with speeding cars, and neighborhoods filled with hostile citizens. My heart beats quickly, keeping pace with Montag's footsteps. After dodging every single one of the potential police informers as well as a second Mechanical Hound, Montag - who has probably never done anything outdoorsman-like in his life, jumps in the water and takes a swim towards freedom. Only then do I breath a sigh of relief. Then I check the area for any witnesses.
While Montag was a few lines from freedom, a housemate tapped me on the shoulder, and I instinctively hid the book away underneath the blanket. He said that I had received an urgent owl. I left the book and blanket on the couch, ran out of the common room, down the hallways, and into the owlery to retrieve the message, which read as follows.
dear corisca, i hope you dress nisely and join the sorority. dont forget to wear makup and come your hair mom xoxoxox
I sighed in frustration. By Merlin, did my own mother misspell my name? And did she not know that there were no sororities at this school?
When I entered the common room, the only other person there was my bunkmate Contessa. I came just in time to see her toss my copy of Fahrenheit 451 into the hearth but just a few seconds too late to be able to stop her. The fires started from the outside and consumed their way towards the center of the book, leaving behind charred remains.
You did not just burn a book that protested bookburning, Tessa? I saw my body lunge at her slender pale frame. I saw thick hands held her thin body like a linebacker intercepting a football. Now we were both falling towards the flames as one, now the heat of the fires had touched out faces, now the flames danced around us both, now our bodies began to turn white and then char in the harsh embers as we bit our lips to bear the pain.
But alas! It was all an image, all a ghost, all a mirage. In reality, I had merely stayed in the same position from time time the thoughts start until the time they ended. The only thing that was on fire was the book, and by now the book was almost completely ash. My eyes turned towards the book, which was being burnt at the fireplace - and I could do nothing to save it.
You stood there and let Tessa burn the book without recourse? What a Gryffindor, Corsica Covington, so cowardly, so meek, so wimpy.
"Stupid muggle book," said Tessa as soon as the fires had consumed the entire book. Her voice was emotionless and lacked conviction.
"It was a pleasure to burn, wasn't it?" I responded with sarcasm drenching every syllable.
Her face and her mind were blank. I turned around and walked away.
Contessa "Tessa" Connolly is a character made specifically for the blog; she is not a real crafter. Fahrenheit 451, however, is a real book, and the author of this post encourages you to read it.
What literary character represents your house the best? Post your house and your nominee in the comments section.
Showing posts with label covington's first year. Show all posts
Showing posts with label covington's first year. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Saturday, October 3, 2009
My First Year: Sorting It Out, Part 2
Edited for major typos on 10/04. Thanks to StitchingMagic and Stacy for catching it.
First, I would like to apologize to you all for the delay; I've been completely washed out completely. However, the memory of the morning of the second day still trickles in my mind as I speak. It was like a dripping faucet with a broken washer in its tap - ever present, wasteful, and wet.
By the end of the first day in red and gold, I was tired. I had spent the night before the first day of classes packing at my muggle home, so I hadn't slept for at least twenty-four hours. When the golden hour came to be, I followed my classmates to the sleeping quarters. My last ounces of strength got me up to the to the top bunk. There, on a feathery white pillow and under the watchful guard of a dream catcher, I fell into bed. The mattress seemed to surround me, and the stars outside suggested sleep.
Somewhere between three and four in the morning, a siren pierced the air, and most of Gryffindor were up on their feet on the instant. They woke up to the unlikely mix of smells - the overbearing wetness of water and the faint dryness of smoke. Water rained down from the ceiling; the smoke had to come from somewhere else. The entire girls' dorm - and perhaps some of the boys' dorm too - erupted in a spontaneous shriek. After a few minutes, the floor of the entire Gryffindor tower was soaked with an overdose of dihydrogen monoxide (that's water for those who are not keen on muggle culture). A few upperclassmen threw around some Impervius charms, but most Gryffindors decided to join the race towards the common room, the place from where the smoke seemed to originate. One wonders what they were running from the most - the sleeping quarters-turned-shower room, or the alarm that seemed to vibrate though most of my housemates' heads.
Those who made it close to the common room were spared from the manmade rainstorm but greeted to a door that opened to a blinding display of red and orange. Silhouetted by the flames was a thin female frame who sat on a partially burned couch. A heavy ring seemed to overtake her fingers, which were as thin as twigs. She seemed still as if she were unaware of the fires dancing all around her. Other couches, including my "bed" from my auditing days, were either burnt, burning, or waiting to be burned. Whispers from my housemates named her as Contessa*, the one who had fell silent after she had been sorted into Gryffindor. Some Gryffindors took unsure glances at their classmates, while others threw - with various degrees of accuracy - spells of Aguamenti. One underclassman even accidentally (Or was it intentionally? One finds it hard to tell.) hit the darkened figure; the latter did not flinch or in any way show any reaction to his jet of water. Many of the other water spells merely flickered the flames; they were neither coordinated enough nor accurate enough to douse the fires.
As Gryffindor after Gryffindor sloshed their way into the common room, eyelids moved upwards, jaws downward. Much of the furniture near the fireplace was charred. Whatever was left was being eaten by the flames. A few well-timed water spells put out the flames, but the scent of smothered flames still remained. No one could quite go to sleep - except for one person.
I woke up this morning to the dampness of a wet pillow and the sound of a sloshing mattress.
"What in Merlin's name happened here?" I asked. My housemates looked from one face to another, presumably shocked that someone could have slept through the rainstorm.
Thanks to Stuartsmom, Oriocookie, Alexist, and Meriadoc for filling me in.
*Contessa "Tessa" Connolly is a character made specifically for the blog; she is not a real crafter.
Got something to say to Contessa? Please leave a comment below.
First, I would like to apologize to you all for the delay; I've been completely washed out completely. However, the memory of the morning of the second day still trickles in my mind as I speak. It was like a dripping faucet with a broken washer in its tap - ever present, wasteful, and wet.
By the end of the first day in red and gold, I was tired. I had spent the night before the first day of classes packing at my muggle home, so I hadn't slept for at least twenty-four hours. When the golden hour came to be, I followed my classmates to the sleeping quarters. My last ounces of strength got me up to the to the top bunk. There, on a feathery white pillow and under the watchful guard of a dream catcher, I fell into bed. The mattress seemed to surround me, and the stars outside suggested sleep.
Somewhere between three and four in the morning, a siren pierced the air, and most of Gryffindor were up on their feet on the instant. They woke up to the unlikely mix of smells - the overbearing wetness of water and the faint dryness of smoke. Water rained down from the ceiling; the smoke had to come from somewhere else. The entire girls' dorm - and perhaps some of the boys' dorm too - erupted in a spontaneous shriek. After a few minutes, the floor of the entire Gryffindor tower was soaked with an overdose of dihydrogen monoxide (that's water for those who are not keen on muggle culture). A few upperclassmen threw around some Impervius charms, but most Gryffindors decided to join the race towards the common room, the place from where the smoke seemed to originate. One wonders what they were running from the most - the sleeping quarters-turned-shower room, or the alarm that seemed to vibrate though most of my housemates' heads.
Those who made it close to the common room were spared from the manmade rainstorm but greeted to a door that opened to a blinding display of red and orange. Silhouetted by the flames was a thin female frame who sat on a partially burned couch. A heavy ring seemed to overtake her fingers, which were as thin as twigs. She seemed still as if she were unaware of the fires dancing all around her. Other couches, including my "bed" from my auditing days, were either burnt, burning, or waiting to be burned. Whispers from my housemates named her as Contessa*, the one who had fell silent after she had been sorted into Gryffindor. Some Gryffindors took unsure glances at their classmates, while others threw - with various degrees of accuracy - spells of Aguamenti. One underclassman even accidentally (Or was it intentionally? One finds it hard to tell.) hit the darkened figure; the latter did not flinch or in any way show any reaction to his jet of water. Many of the other water spells merely flickered the flames; they were neither coordinated enough nor accurate enough to douse the fires.
As Gryffindor after Gryffindor sloshed their way into the common room, eyelids moved upwards, jaws downward. Much of the furniture near the fireplace was charred. Whatever was left was being eaten by the flames. A few well-timed water spells put out the flames, but the scent of smothered flames still remained. No one could quite go to sleep - except for one person.
I woke up this morning to the dampness of a wet pillow and the sound of a sloshing mattress.
"What in Merlin's name happened here?" I asked. My housemates looked from one face to another, presumably shocked that someone could have slept through the rainstorm.
Thanks to Stuartsmom, Oriocookie, Alexist, and Meriadoc for filling me in.
*Contessa "Tessa" Connolly is a character made specifically for the blog; she is not a real crafter.
Got something to say to Contessa? Please leave a comment below.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
My First Year: Sorting It Out, Part 1
My name is Covington, and I am a first-year student returning to Hogwarts.
This wasn't the first time that I've set foot at Hogwarts. A few months ago, I regularly stole to the magical castle under darkness' veil. I was surprised that even as a muggle-born, I was both instantly discovered and welcome by the staff and students at Hogwarts. I was even allowed to sit in a few classes; apparently, this is the only school that I've ever heard of in which students sneak into class. This year, however, I will be attending Hogwarts for real. My mother was adamant about me not going, but a few well-placed distractions caused by yours truly minimized the friction between us like a careful drop of oil applied to two stuck gears.
I spent the whole move-in day tired because I spent the night before packing my stuff. Like a muggle playing Tetris, I tried to fit the most stuff into the least amount of suitcase as possible. My mother "helped" me pack by throwing girly clothes I would never wear, muggle electronic devices, and other stuff I wouldn't have caught dead in at Hogwarts; I threw them back on my bed. Her last words before I left were, "Make sure you watch enough TV at Hogwarts, and make friends with Mindy!" I said goodbye to my brother Kastor - who was still asleep - and dragged my rolling luggage at the door.
Mindy, her mother's (and apparently also my mother's) little darling, was already at the shuttle stop. Her mother was there to hold her bags and wait with her at the stop. Mindy looked as if she was dressed up for a fashion show; her thin frame was sporting skinny jeans, a tight-fitting shirt, and high-heeled shoes. Her face was drenched in makeup. She was lazily looking at a tiny cellphone screen while her hands zipped over its miniature keys - muggle technology. Mindy smirked at me as if I were the one breaking the rules; my face was stoic as I laughed on the inside.
If Mindy were any other person, I would have reminded her that muggle technology was not allowed at Hogwarts. But no, I'd rather have the professors deal with her transgressions. Let her feel the wrath of the magical professorate; let her be made to feel that she was the stupid one. Then after Mindy will be reprimanded, I will find a private place, snicker for a minute or two, and then go on with daily life, reminding myself that Mindy has already won a delinquent mark on the professors' books.
After boarding the express shuttle provided by the school, I ended up directly at Hogwarts. A sea of students poured towards Hogwarts castle. I've spotted several Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins that I've met during my auditing days. Some waved, others smiled. I joined up with a bunch of Gryffindor friends and followed them into the Great Hall. When they got to the Gryffindor table, I sat down with them. I didn't want to leave, but alas, the Headmistress made an announcement that she was about to start the sorting ceremony, and I had to take a seat at the newcomers' row.
Words and names passed in and out of my ears while I thought and thought and thought. Actually, it was more like I worried, worried, and worried. You see, I did not fit exactly into one of the four houses; I was told that I talked like a Ravenclaw, I was subtle like a Slytherin, and I was fair-minded like a Hufflepuff. But I wanted to be a Gryffindor. Gryffindor was my home, my home that I was returning to after a figurative kidnapping. Of all things, I wanted to be strong, noble, and brave.
The Headmistress called my name, and with a shaky gait that betrayed my nervousness, I approached the front of the room and turned to face the audience. A cheer rose from all over the Great Hall and filled the air. I scanned the room to see members of all of the houses wishing that Sorting Hat would place me in their house. My eyes stopped at the Gryffindor table, and my eyes watered up. I couldn't make out anyone's face now; the lights were now spills of brightness in a watery blur. The noise was growing in a quick crescendo. As time stood still, I thought of what I would do if by chance I didn't make it into Gryffindor, a very real possiblily - who I would talk to, who I would switch with, how I would position myself to be portrayed as a mis-sort who belonged in Gryffindor in the first place, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
I felt the hat on top of my head, and tears gushed out of my eyes.
*The mother, Mindy, and Kastor are characters made specifically for this blog; they aren't real students.
This wasn't the first time that I've set foot at Hogwarts. A few months ago, I regularly stole to the magical castle under darkness' veil. I was surprised that even as a muggle-born, I was both instantly discovered and welcome by the staff and students at Hogwarts. I was even allowed to sit in a few classes; apparently, this is the only school that I've ever heard of in which students sneak into class. This year, however, I will be attending Hogwarts for real. My mother was adamant about me not going, but a few well-placed distractions caused by yours truly minimized the friction between us like a careful drop of oil applied to two stuck gears.
I spent the whole move-in day tired because I spent the night before packing my stuff. Like a muggle playing Tetris, I tried to fit the most stuff into the least amount of suitcase as possible. My mother "helped" me pack by throwing girly clothes I would never wear, muggle electronic devices, and other stuff I wouldn't have caught dead in at Hogwarts; I threw them back on my bed. Her last words before I left were, "Make sure you watch enough TV at Hogwarts, and make friends with Mindy!" I said goodbye to my brother Kastor - who was still asleep - and dragged my rolling luggage at the door.
Mindy, her mother's (and apparently also my mother's) little darling, was already at the shuttle stop. Her mother was there to hold her bags and wait with her at the stop. Mindy looked as if she was dressed up for a fashion show; her thin frame was sporting skinny jeans, a tight-fitting shirt, and high-heeled shoes. Her face was drenched in makeup. She was lazily looking at a tiny cellphone screen while her hands zipped over its miniature keys - muggle technology. Mindy smirked at me as if I were the one breaking the rules; my face was stoic as I laughed on the inside.
If Mindy were any other person, I would have reminded her that muggle technology was not allowed at Hogwarts. But no, I'd rather have the professors deal with her transgressions. Let her feel the wrath of the magical professorate; let her be made to feel that she was the stupid one. Then after Mindy will be reprimanded, I will find a private place, snicker for a minute or two, and then go on with daily life, reminding myself that Mindy has already won a delinquent mark on the professors' books.
After boarding the express shuttle provided by the school, I ended up directly at Hogwarts. A sea of students poured towards Hogwarts castle. I've spotted several Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins that I've met during my auditing days. Some waved, others smiled. I joined up with a bunch of Gryffindor friends and followed them into the Great Hall. When they got to the Gryffindor table, I sat down with them. I didn't want to leave, but alas, the Headmistress made an announcement that she was about to start the sorting ceremony, and I had to take a seat at the newcomers' row.
Words and names passed in and out of my ears while I thought and thought and thought. Actually, it was more like I worried, worried, and worried. You see, I did not fit exactly into one of the four houses; I was told that I talked like a Ravenclaw, I was subtle like a Slytherin, and I was fair-minded like a Hufflepuff. But I wanted to be a Gryffindor. Gryffindor was my home, my home that I was returning to after a figurative kidnapping. Of all things, I wanted to be strong, noble, and brave.
The Headmistress called my name, and with a shaky gait that betrayed my nervousness, I approached the front of the room and turned to face the audience. A cheer rose from all over the Great Hall and filled the air. I scanned the room to see members of all of the houses wishing that Sorting Hat would place me in their house. My eyes stopped at the Gryffindor table, and my eyes watered up. I couldn't make out anyone's face now; the lights were now spills of brightness in a watery blur. The noise was growing in a quick crescendo. As time stood still, I thought of what I would do if by chance I didn't make it into Gryffindor, a very real possiblily - who I would talk to, who I would switch with, how I would position myself to be portrayed as a mis-sort who belonged in Gryffindor in the first place, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
I felt the hat on top of my head, and tears gushed out of my eyes.
*The mother, Mindy, and Kastor are characters made specifically for this blog; they aren't real students.
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