The Enormous Radio” John Cheever published in The Enor.docxmehek4
“The Enormous Radio”
John Cheever
published in: The Enormous Radio and Other Stories. New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1953.
Jim and Irene Westcott were the kind of people who seem to strike that satisfactory average of
income, endeavor, and respectability that is reached by the statistical reports in college alumni
bulletins. They were the parents of two young children, they had been married nine years, they
lived on the twelfth floor of an apartment house near Sutton Place, they went to the theatre on
an average of 10.3 times a year, and they hoped some day to live in Westchester. Irene
Westcott was a pleasant, rather plain girl with soft brown hair and a wide, fine forehead upon
which nothing at all had been written and in the cold weather she wore a coat of fitch skins dyed
to resemble mink. You could not say that Jim Westcott looked younger than he was, but you
could at least say of him that he seemed to feel younger. He wore his graying hair cut very
short, he dressed in the kind of clothes his class had worn at Andover and his manner was
earnest, vehement, and intentionally naive. The Westcotts differed from their friends, their
classmates, and their neighbors only in an interest they shared in serious music. They went to a
great many concerts - although they seldom mentioned this to anyone - and they spent a good
deal of time listening to music on the radio.
Their radio was an old instrument, sensitive, unpredictable, and beyond repair. Neither of them
understood the mechanics of radio - or of any of the other appliances that surrounded them -
and when the instrument faltered, Jim would strike the side of the cabinet with his hand. This
sometimes helped. One Sunday afternoon, in the middle of a Schubert quartet, the music faded
away altogether. Jim struck the cabinet repeatedly, but there was no response; the Schubert
was lost to them forever. He promised to buy Irene a new radio, and on Monday when he came
home from work he told her that he had got one. He refused to describe it, and said it would be
a surprise for her when it came.
The radio was delivered at the kitchen door the following afternoon, and with the assistance of
her maid and the handyman Irene uncrated it and brought it into the living room. She was struck
at once with the physical ugliness of the large gumwood cabinet. Irene was proud of her living
room, she had chosen its furnishings and colours as carefully as she chose her clothes, and
now it seemed to her that the new radio stood among her intimate possessions like an
aggressive intruder. She was confounded by the number of dials and switches on the
instrument panel, and she studied them thoroughly before she put the plug into a wall socket
and turned the radio on. The dials flooded with a malevolent green light, and in the distance she
heard the music of a piano quintet. The quintet was in the distance for only an instant; it bore
down upon her with a speed greater than light ...
The Enormous Radio” John Cheever published in The Enor.docxmehek4
“The Enormous Radio”
John Cheever
published in: The Enormous Radio and Other Stories. New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1953.
Jim and Irene Westcott were the kind of people who seem to strike that satisfactory average of
income, endeavor, and respectability that is reached by the statistical reports in college alumni
bulletins. They were the parents of two young children, they had been married nine years, they
lived on the twelfth floor of an apartment house near Sutton Place, they went to the theatre on
an average of 10.3 times a year, and they hoped some day to live in Westchester. Irene
Westcott was a pleasant, rather plain girl with soft brown hair and a wide, fine forehead upon
which nothing at all had been written and in the cold weather she wore a coat of fitch skins dyed
to resemble mink. You could not say that Jim Westcott looked younger than he was, but you
could at least say of him that he seemed to feel younger. He wore his graying hair cut very
short, he dressed in the kind of clothes his class had worn at Andover and his manner was
earnest, vehement, and intentionally naive. The Westcotts differed from their friends, their
classmates, and their neighbors only in an interest they shared in serious music. They went to a
great many concerts - although they seldom mentioned this to anyone - and they spent a good
deal of time listening to music on the radio.
Their radio was an old instrument, sensitive, unpredictable, and beyond repair. Neither of them
understood the mechanics of radio - or of any of the other appliances that surrounded them -
and when the instrument faltered, Jim would strike the side of the cabinet with his hand. This
sometimes helped. One Sunday afternoon, in the middle of a Schubert quartet, the music faded
away altogether. Jim struck the cabinet repeatedly, but there was no response; the Schubert
was lost to them forever. He promised to buy Irene a new radio, and on Monday when he came
home from work he told her that he had got one. He refused to describe it, and said it would be
a surprise for her when it came.
The radio was delivered at the kitchen door the following afternoon, and with the assistance of
her maid and the handyman Irene uncrated it and brought it into the living room. She was struck
at once with the physical ugliness of the large gumwood cabinet. Irene was proud of her living
room, she had chosen its furnishings and colours as carefully as she chose her clothes, and
now it seemed to her that the new radio stood among her intimate possessions like an
aggressive intruder. She was confounded by the number of dials and switches on the
instrument panel, and she studied them thoroughly before she put the plug into a wall socket
and turned the radio on. The dials flooded with a malevolent green light, and in the distance she
heard the music of a piano quintet. The quintet was in the distance for only an instant; it bore
down upon her with a speed greater than light ...
1 James Joyce (1882-1941) Eveline (1914) She sat.docxmercysuttle
1
James Joyce (1882-1941)
Eveline (1914)
She sat at the window watching the evening invade the avenue. Her head was leaned
against the window curtains and in her nostrils was the odour of dusty cretonne. She was
tired.
Few people passed. The man out of the last house passed on his way home; she heard
his footsteps clacking along the concrete pavement and afterwards crunching on the cinder
path before the new red houses. One time there used to be a field there in which they used to
play every evening with other people's children. Then a man from Belfast bought the field
and built houses in it—not like their little brown houses but bright brick houses with shining
roofs. The children of the avenue used to play together in that field—the Devines, the
Waters, the Dunns, little Keogh the cripple, she and her brothers and sisters. Ernest, however,
never played: he was too grown up. Her father used often to hunt them in out of the field
with his blackthorn stick; but usually little Keogh used to keep nix and call out when he saw
her father coming. Still they seemed to have been rather happy then. Her father was not so
bad then; and besides, her mother was alive. That was a long time ago; she and her brothers
and sisters were all grown up her mother was dead. Tizzie Dunn was dead, too, and the
Waters had gone back to England. Everything changes. Now she was going to go away like
the others, to leave her home.
Home! She looked round the room, reviewing all its familiar objects which she had
dusted once a week for so many years, wondering where on earth all the dust came from.
Perhaps she would never see again those familiar objects from which she had never dreamed
2
of being divided. And yet during all those years she had never found out the name of the
priest whose yellowing photograph hung on the wall above the broken harmonium beside the
coloured print of the promises made to Blessed Margaret Mary Alacoque. He had been a
school friend of her father. Whenever he showed the photograph to a visitor her father used
to pass it with a casual word:
“He is in Melbourne now.”
She had consented to go away, to leave her home. Was that wise? She tried to weigh
each side of the question. In her home anyway she had shelter and food; she had those whom
she had known all her life about her. O course she had to work hard, both in the house and at
business. What would they say of her in the Stores when they found out that she had run
away with a fellow? Say she was a fool, perhaps; and her place would be filled up by
advertisement. Miss Gavan would be glad. She had always had an edge on her, especially
whenever there were people listening.
“Miss Hill, don't you see these ladies are waiting?”
“Look lively, Miss Hill, please.”
She would not cry many tears at leaving the Stores.
But in her new home, in a distant unknown country, it would not be like that. Then
she would be married—she ...
Eveline by James JoyceSHE sat at the window watching the evening .docxturveycharlyn
Eveline by James Joyce
SHE sat at the window watching the evening invade the avenue. Her head was leaned against the window curtains and in her nostrils was the odour of dusty cretonne. She was tired.
Few people passed. The man out of the last house passed on his way home; she heard his footsteps clacking along the concrete pavement and afterwards crunching on the cinder path before the new red houses. One time there used to be a field there in which they used to play every evening with other people's children. Then a man from Belfast bought the field and built houses in it -- not like their little brown houses but bright brick houses with shining roofs. The children of the avenue used to play together in that field -- the Devines, the Waters, the Dunns, little Keogh the cripple, she and her brothers and sisters. Ernest, however, never played: he was too grown up. Her father used often to hunt them in out of the field with his blackthorn stick; but usually little Keogh used to keep nix and call out when he saw her father coming. Still they seemed to have been rather happy then. Her father was not so bad then; and besides, her mother was alive. That was a long time ago; she and her brothers and sisters were all grown up her mother was dead. Tizzie Dunn was dead, too, and the Waters had gone back to England. Everything changes. Now she was going to go away like the others, to leave her home.
Home! She looked round the room, reviewing all its familiar objects which she had dusted once a week for so many years, wondering where on earth all the dust came from. Perhaps she would never see again those familiar objects from which she had never dreamed of being divided. And yet during all those years she had never found out the name of the priest whose yellowing photograph hung on the wall above the broken harmonium beside the coloured print of the promises made to Blessed Margaret Mary Alacoque. He had been a school friend of her father. Whenever he showed the photograph to a visitor her father used to pass it with a casual word:
"He is in Melbourne now."
She had consented to go away, to leave her home. Was that wise? She tried to weigh each side of the question. In her home anyway she had shelter and food; she had those whom she had known all her life about her. O course she had to work hard, both in the house and at business. What would they say of her in the Stores when they found out that she had run away with a fellow? Say she was a fool, perhaps; and her place would be filled up by advertisement. Miss Gavan would be glad. She had always had an edge on her, especially whenever there were people listening.
"Miss Hill, don't you see these ladies are waiting?"
"Look lively, Miss Hill, please."
She would not cry many tears at leaving the Stores.
But in her new home, in a distant unknown country, it would not be like that. Then she would be married -- she, Eveline. People would treat her with respect then. She would not be treated as her mot.
6Lu Xun (1881 - 1936)Diary of a MadmanChineseModernismDrhetttrevannion
6
Lu Xun (1881 - 1936)
Diary of a MadmanChineseModernism
"Diary of a Madman" is a famous short story by Lu Xun, who is regarded as a great writer of modern Chinese literature. Lu Xun (surname: Lu, and the pen name of Zhou Shuren) was a short story writer, translator, essayist, and literary scholar. Although Lu was educated in the Confucian tradition when he was young, he later received a modern western education; he studied modern medicine in Japan and was exposed to western literature (including English, German, and Russian literatures). In 1918, "Diary of a Madman" was published in New Youth, a magazine of the New Culture Movement that promoted democracy, egalitarianism, vernacular literature, individual freedom, and women's rights. Inspired by the Russian writer Nikolai Gogol's story of the same title, Lu wrote this story, which is the first western-style story in vernacular Chinese. The cannibalistic society that the madman narrator sees is generally interpreted as a satirical allegory of traditional Chinese society based on Confucianism. Although Lu and his works were associated with leftist ideas (and Mao Zedong favored Lu's works), Lu never joined the Communist Party of China. The English translations of this short story include a version by William A. Lyell, a former professor of Chinese at Stanford University.Consider while reading:What elements of detective fiction does Borges include in "The Garden of Forking Paths"?How does having multiple possible outcomes influence the resolution of the text?How does Borges use the symbolism of the labyrinth?Borges is known for his use of magical realism and his work in the science fiction genre. How does Borges incorporate magical realism into "The Garden of the Forking Paths?" What effect does it create?
Kwon, Kyounghye. (n.d.). Compact Anthology of World Literature: The 17th and 18th Centuries (Part 6). Dahlonega, GA: University of North Georgia Press.
CC-BY-SA.
5
10
THE GARDEN PARTY
License: Public Domain
Katherine Mansfield
And after all the weather was ideal. They could not have had a more perfect
day for a garden-party if they had ordered it. Windless, warm, the sky without a
cloud. Only the blue was veiled with a haze of light gold, as it is sometimes in
early summer. The gardener had been up since dawn, mowing the lawns and
sweeping them, until the grass and the dark flat rosettes where the daisy plants
had been seemed to shine. As for the roses, you could not help feeling they
understood that roses are the only flowers that impress people at garden-parties;
the only flowers that everybody is certain of knowing. Hundreds, yes, literally
hundreds, had come out in a single night; the green bushes bowed down as
though they had been visited by archangels.
Breakfast was not yet over before the men came to put up the marquee.
"Where do you want the marquee put, mother?"
"My dear child, it's no use asking me. I'm determined to leave everything to
you children this year. Forget I ...
6Lu Xun (1881 - 1936)Diary of a MadmanChineseModernismD
The sombrero 1
1. Regional Mexican Legends
THE SOMBRERO.
Stars were everywhere in the night. In silence were the dirty streets in
Guatemala City.
All in silence. No noise.Tthe walls looked like wasted paper, paste
to the old ruins of the city near Sagrario Streets.
All were dyeing because of coldness In the Portal of Señor.
Matching 8 o’clock was the Cathedral clock, time for spirits come
out from somewhere.
Near the Old Cathedral Streets, on the sandy streets, time passed
and passed.
Then, a little noise was listened, even loader when time passed.
After, some steps where listened.
Then, the noisy steps, didn’t listened anymore. At
the corner of the street, a man of town was
watched. He stopped, he saw to everywhere very
slowly. With a mysterious appearance, he turned
to the next corner and he continues walking, very
slowly.
He seemed to be a miner.
When he approached to the houses the
cried of dogs was listened. He was very little, with
a belt which covered all his body, but with a beautiful pair of boots. He carried a
guitar; those whom are in sell, Thursdays morning in the Cathedral. And finally
in his head an enormous hat, which covered from his head to his foot.
He carried four mules with him; it seemed they had no direction to follow.
He quickly crossed Nuestra Señora de Candelaria Church. Near a post
he stopped, he got his guitar and happily started to sing with no fear. And his
voice entered to all the houses of the town. All nights, including a little hit he
made with his shoes on the ground.
When he finally stopped, he guarded his guitar and took his mules.
Suddenly he disappeared, exactly when the first rooster song was
listened.
Everybody in town commented. Two women complained, that they could
not sleep on no time last night. They both, thought was some boyfriend of some
of the ladies of the town, that everybody went and song to them in front of their
house.
1
2. Regional Mexican Legends
Everybody describe this lady, thinking that some boy had come.
“She is poor, that is why everybody come here and sing to her” they said.
“But she is very beautiful, always” they commented.
A shame would be that some of this guy would ruin this girl.
Nina was very beautiful. The woman of the store did not understood how
a humble woman, could had such a pretty girl.
Nina was wonderful.
In her hair, and specially, in her eyes was reflected her grace.
Her mother wanted for her a good husband; she cared her girl a lot, for
that time.
But not only her mother took care of her, all the people of the town
appreciated her. Everybody was proud for having her in town. People thought
they had to the most beautiful girl of the New Guatemala of the Asuncion.
Every day the serenade repeated and repeated every day. He sang Nina
new romantic poems. Meanwhile Nina in her house listened carefully to the
songs commotion.
Hearing the voice, of the man in love.
Finally opened the window of the room, after a lot of days. She imagined
him, big and with muscles.
That mysterious man entered in Nina’s house, since then.
The persistence of the serenades was causing a mess in town.
Everybody wanted to know the man who was in love with Nina.
An old woman in the Candelaria Old Church, after the Holly hour,
commented to other woman, that they both had to know the guy who was
singing to Nina.
That night the old woman could view the little man entered with his guitar
and a big hat also boots, to one window into Nina’s house.
“Oh, my God! Do you know who is Nina’s boyfriend?” she told, “Is the
Sombreron, that’s why she is so skinny. Yesterday I saw her eyes, and they
look like if worms were eating them.” She said.
“We have to do something, poor Nina” she continued “the goblin” she
exclaimed.
We have to talk with Chayo first to do something.
2
3. Regional Mexican Legends
“She will get ill said Chayo. “Take her away from here, take her to other
town quickly, the goblin won’t let her, take her from here” people advised to
Chayo.
Nia Chayo took Nina from Candelaria town to Santa Catarina Convent.
The first night that the Sombreron came to seek Nina, and he didn’t find her, he
scared to much, at the point that came back rapidly from the same street with
the guitar. He loose rapidly scared and dusty.
In front of the altar of Santa Catarina Nina prayed. But she felt his
presence.After doing her duties, she could listened the clicking of his boots and
the voice in love singing songs.
Since the day Nina crossed the Convent doors, near the convent were
two mules drinking water
Old people of Candelaria said. Nina, the beautiful girl with big eyes and
golden hair was depressing slowly in front of the nuns. Until Santa Cecilia’s
night she slept for ever.
In sunrise she was death.
The nuns kept vigil on her in the Señor Sepultado Chapel. After they
gave the death body to her mother, a Street seller of the Amargura Street they
kept vigil on her.
Her mother took the body to keep vigil. The house was full of friends who
wanted to see for last time to the girl who was admired by everyone.
By the street, at eight o’clock, appeared a little man with his guitar and
his mules walking rapidly, The Sombreron.
Running he entered where people was keeping vigil. He strapped the
mules and began to sing a sad song.
Tears were coming out all around his big hat. Pain tears. His crying was
listened in the entire house. All started to cry also hurt also by the Sombreron`s
pain.
No one remembers in town now when stopped that crying.
Everybody viewed next day in the street a crying rosary around the entire
town. Nina, the beautiful girl the Sombreron love in San Juan de Dios
Cemetery, every Santa Cecilia nights appeared some mules, near the thumbs,
the hearing of a guitar and a song is listen. In a thumb a flower with alb drops.
Because as old people said the goblin never forgets the ladies he had love.
3
4. Regional Mexican Legends
Inglés Español Inglés Español
Everybody Todos guitar guitarra
Next day El próximo dia flower flores
Cementery Cementerio had tener
4