How Far She Went Essay: An Analysis
Authority and inferiority, uprising and submission, noncompliance and sanction have a rivalry within all humans and engage in combat when an outside force disagrees with one’s emotions. Coming the dawn of adulthood, teens often find hindrance in rebelling against the legal guardians that have trespassed against the teenager’s ideas. By creating a sense of self-need and revolution, Jing Mei, Dubus and the Granddaughter shine a light upon inferiority—declaring themselves not wholly free spirits but now connected with humanity all the more so. Jing Mei from Amy Tan’s “Two Kinds” will shock her family. Dubus from Andre Dubus’ “Digging” shall challenge the desires of his father. The Granddaughter from Mary Hood’s “How Far She Went” ends up scaring the grandmother-
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and herself.
On behalf of Jing Mei in Amy Tan’s “Two Kinds”, uprising leads to a shocking and heartrending outburst that ultimately stuns her mom to her core. Young Jing Mei easily convinces herself as not one born talented, yet her mother thinks otherwise, and pushes her around, as a millionaire would do with a show dog. As a child, Jing Mei actually started out agreeing with Mother, imagining her mother and father would adore her, Jing would be “beyond reproach” (Page 1). Such impressions often shadow grade schoolers, for they button down on the idea that any opportunity that involves a camera could make a child famous, possibly a celebrity. But as time moseys along, and several tests for talents have come, the tipping point comes in the form of a mucked-up talent show. Consequent to the embarrassing piano recital, Jing Mei wants nothing more to do with piano, but when her mom makes her get back to work, upheaval arises, and when physical actions come into play, Jing Mei clamors the wish of, like all of mothers’ other babies in China, being “dead! Like them!” (Tan 7). Jing’s adverse shout leaves her mother frozen, and the
piano would never be brought up again until Jing Mei turned thirteen, where a small attempt had been made to see if minds had changed, but no. Later, after her mother had died and at the cleaning of the apartment, Jing Mei gets the piano reconditioned, and through that action, an older Jing Mei could finally understand what her mother saw, metaphorically while looking at the music book, realizing she had found the two songs that gave her the most trouble as a child had been “Two halves of the same song” (Page 8). The piano stresses the struggle between the mother and daughter. In Tan’s “Two Kinds”, a smug Jing Mei declares her rebellion unrestrained; yet through the sands of time, Jing learns. Jing Mei’s tantrum leaves her acknowledging bad things happen for a greater good.
Andre Dubus’ narrative “Digging” gives insight to Dubus’ summer job, leading a joyful time spanning his summer as both muscles and heart grow. Sixteen-year-old Dubus does not exactly make an indecorous display of rebellion, rather, he keeps his opinions to himself, this being one of the problems: he is a shrimp. Embarking on summer vacation in 1952, the main character’s father, in all his barrel-chested glory, signs his son up for working for a building contractor of his-only problem is, Dubus confesses that he does “not want to work” (page 53). This is natural for people to not want to do manual labor, but in this case, Dubus needs this job to put some meat on his skeleton with skin. By the time lunch comes on the first day, Dubus is on the verge of heatstroke, so his father wants to get him a hat. Recalling the drug store’s only hats in stock being pith helmets, the narrator notes how he would “happily wear one in Africa, hunting lions and Rhinoceroses, but I did not want to wear one in Lafayette.” (Page 60). This does not cover rebellion as much as this would cover whining, but for a 105-pound weakling, that may be his form of rebellion. Not as fast as cement drains down a half pipe, Dubus is working efficiently amongst the other men and building a friendship with the minorities. After his insightful story, Dubus looks back with twenty pounds of muscle added onto his bones – thanking his father for pushing him to keep working, no matter the situation “instead of taking me home” (Page 62). For a boy that started out as bully bait and ended the summer essentially a football player, the job certainly would have been something one would oppose. But in Dubus’ “Digging”, a building, determined Dubus grumbles his rebellion, aware of his father’s intentions; yet through silently complying, he is educated. Dubus’ job deserts him stepping up to the plate of things, as well as a new respect for minorities.
Entombed in undeveloped tracks of land sit Mary Hood’s “How Far She Went” main character, the granddaughter, feeling as if the stalks of corn are prison guard towers. The Fifteen-year-old Granddaughter makes an unexpected decision to run away from her grandmother’s house and hang out with a biker gang, a decision she would learn to rue. Beginning with being allotted from society at her grandmother’s house in Georgia, generation gaps visible ever so much more so as the grandmother is constantly working and the granddaughter wants to be social, so the gap cracks apart so much that the granddaughter shouts, “You don’t know me!” (Hood 148) before running off. Slurred fragments like this are commonly found with defiant youth, for they feel as if the world that they have been introduced to hardly more than a decade ago has shown more of itself to them than their predecessors. Though the granddaughter finds a nous of whimsical digestion when running down the stretched-out rusty driveway, the script’s disappointed undertone coming from the grandmother implies that the grandmother is just upset with what her male offspring managed to raise. Just as fast as the granddaughter rounds the corner, the grandmother shrugs the scene off and turns her head back to work. But after the short time dashes by, the grandmother discovers her bellicose granddaughter, riding with a team of motorcycle men through town, disturbing the peace and wreaking havoc. Fuming, once the grandmother catches up to them, she wrathfully stampers out, “She’s underage” (Page 151). Modern times have taught adolescents to discharge stereotypes, but the grandmother only sees the bikers as rude, destructive, immature adult men—in the possession of her son’s daughter. But after the granny snatches up the granddaughter, the situation becomes apparent that the men are not going down without a fight, as one of them possesses a pistol. After a brief chase act, the two girls find a recess under a bridge. Panicking with a gunman overhead and a fat mouth hound, the grandma is forced to drown the yapping canine for their own safety; “It was him or you” (page 155). After the motorcyclists ride off, assuming they lost them, the granddaughter and grandmother wade up to shore, dripping in not only river water, but salty tears, where an intellect of bonding deluge comes to fill in the canyon that had once been their generation gap. In Hood’s “How Far She Went”, a youthful, energetic Granddaughter rebels, not alert for all the jeopardies of the outside world; yet through a horrifying experience, she ripens. The Granddaughter’s motorcycle ride leaves her finding joy in becoming sovereign, but the chase under the bridge discloses the harshness of reality to her—but through this she will always remember to be careful.
The pubescent desire for self-sufficiency is, in no uncertain terms, the driving force of the three protagonists of this unit, bringing Jing Mei to offend her mother, Dubus to challenge his father’s wishes, and the granddaughter to endanger her grandmother’s life as well as her own. Correspondingly, these mishaps may never be forgotten, but the fact that the struggle happened builds their character with a different clay than those affluent teenagers who always get everything. Failed rebellion proves that every climax of life will not withhold a positive resolution. Elders mostly end up being the wiser ones for the reason that age groups actually tend to be closer in correspondences than one can tell apart. So, if a higher power forces one to do something one does not want to do, one must think before rebellion!
and herself.
On behalf of Jing Mei in Amy Tan’s “Two Kinds”, uprising leads to a shocking and heartrending outburst that ultimately stuns her mom to her core. Young Jing Mei easily convinces herself as not one born talented, yet her mother thinks otherwise, and pushes her around, as a millionaire would do with a show dog. As a child, Jing Mei actually started out agreeing with Mother, imagining her mother and father would adore her, Jing would be “beyond reproach” (Page 1). Such impressions often shadow grade schoolers, for they button down on the idea that any opportunity that involves a camera could make a child famous, possibly a celebrity. But as time moseys along, and several tests for talents have come, the tipping point comes in the form of a mucked-up talent show. Consequent to the embarrassing piano recital, Jing Mei wants nothing more to do with piano, but when her mom makes her get back to work, upheaval arises, and when physical actions come into play, Jing Mei clamors the wish of, like all of mothers’ other babies in China, being “dead! Like them!” (Tan 7). Jing’s adverse shout leaves her mother frozen, and the
piano would never be brought up again until Jing Mei turned thirteen, where a small attempt had been made to see if minds had changed, but no. Later, after her mother had died and at the cleaning of the apartment, Jing Mei gets the piano reconditioned, and through that action, an older Jing Mei could finally understand what her mother saw, metaphorically while looking at the music book, realizing she had found the two songs that gave her the most trouble as a child had been “Two halves of the same song” (Page 8). The piano stresses the struggle between the mother and daughter. In Tan’s “Two Kinds”, a smug Jing Mei declares her rebellion unrestrained; yet through the sands of time, Jing learns. Jing Mei’s tantrum leaves her acknowledging bad things happen for a greater good.
Andre Dubus’ narrative “Digging” gives insight to Dubus’ summer job, leading a joyful time spanning his summer as both muscles and heart grow. Sixteen-year-old Dubus does not exactly make an indecorous display of rebellion, rather, he keeps his opinions to himself, this being one of the problems: he is a shrimp. Embarking on summer vacation in 1952, the main character’s father, in all his barrel-chested glory, signs his son up for working for a building contractor of his-only problem is, Dubus confesses that he does “not want to work” (page 53). This is natural for people to not want to do manual labor, but in this case, Dubus needs this job to put some meat on his skeleton with skin. By the time lunch comes on the first day, Dubus is on the verge of heatstroke, so his father wants to get him a hat. Recalling the drug store’s only hats in stock being pith helmets, the narrator notes how he would “happily wear one in Africa, hunting lions and Rhinoceroses, but I did not want to wear one in Lafayette.” (Page 60). This does not cover rebellion as much as this would cover whining, but for a 105-pound weakling, that may be his form of rebellion. Not as fast as cement drains down a half pipe, Dubus is working efficiently amongst the other men and building a friendship with the minorities. After his insightful story, Dubus looks back with twenty pounds of muscle added onto his bones – thanking his father for pushing him to keep working, no matter the situation “instead of taking me home” (Page 62). For a boy that started out as bully bait and ended the summer essentially a football player, the job certainly would have been something one would oppose. But in Dubus’ “Digging”, a building, determined Dubus grumbles his rebellion, aware of his father’s intentions; yet through silently complying, he is educated. Dubus’ job deserts him stepping up to the plate of things, as well as a new respect for minorities.
Entombed in undeveloped tracks of land sit Mary Hood’s “How Far She Went” main character, the granddaughter, feeling as if the stalks of corn are prison guard towers. The Fifteen-year-old Granddaughter makes an unexpected decision to run away from her grandmother’s house and hang out with a biker gang, a decision she would learn to rue. Beginning with being allotted from society at her grandmother’s house in Georgia, generation gaps visible ever so much more so as the grandmother is constantly working and the granddaughter wants to be social, so the gap cracks apart so much that the granddaughter shouts, “You don’t know me!” (Hood 148) before running off. Slurred fragments like this are commonly found with defiant youth, for they feel as if the world that they have been introduced to hardly more than a decade ago has shown more of itself to them than their predecessors. Though the granddaughter finds a nous of whimsical digestion when running down the stretched-out rusty driveway, the script’s disappointed undertone coming from the grandmother implies that the grandmother is just upset with what her male offspring managed to raise. Just as fast as the granddaughter rounds the corner, the grandmother shrugs the scene off and turns her head back to work. But after the short time dashes by, the grandmother discovers her bellicose granddaughter, riding with a team of motorcycle men through town, disturbing the peace and wreaking havoc. Fuming, once the grandmother catches up to them, she wrathfully stampers out, “She’s underage” (Page 151). Modern times have taught adolescents to discharge stereotypes, but the grandmother only sees the bikers as rude, destructive, immature adult men—in the possession of her son’s daughter. But after the granny snatches up the granddaughter, the situation becomes apparent that the men are not going down without a fight, as one of them possesses a pistol. After a brief chase act, the two girls find a recess under a bridge. Panicking with a gunman overhead and a fat mouth hound, the grandma is forced to drown the yapping canine for their own safety; “It was him or you” (page 155). After the motorcyclists ride off, assuming they lost them, the granddaughter and grandmother wade up to shore, dripping in not only river water, but salty tears, where an intellect of bonding deluge comes to fill in the canyon that had once been their generation gap. In Hood’s “How Far She Went”, a youthful, energetic Granddaughter rebels, not alert for all the jeopardies of the outside world; yet through a horrifying experience, she ripens. The Granddaughter’s motorcycle ride leaves her finding joy in becoming sovereign, but the chase under the bridge discloses the harshness of reality to her—but through this she will always remember to be careful.
The pubescent desire for self-sufficiency is, in no uncertain terms, the driving force of the three protagonists of this unit, bringing Jing Mei to offend her mother, Dubus to challenge his father’s wishes, and the granddaughter to endanger her grandmother’s life as well as her own. Correspondingly, these mishaps may never be forgotten, but the fact that the struggle happened builds their character with a different clay than those affluent teenagers who always get everything. Failed rebellion proves that every climax of life will not withhold a positive resolution. Elders mostly end up being the wiser ones for the reason that age groups actually tend to be closer in correspondences than one can tell apart. So, if a higher power forces one to do something one does not want to do, one must think before rebellion!