The first impression that Three Day’s Road imparted upon me was that the novel would be a bildungsroman, a German term for coming-of-age themed stories, due to the way the prologue was narrated. While Three Day’s Road doesn’t quite adhere to the structure of a bildungsroman in a number of ways, I still saw it as coming-to-terms novel due to its central themes and wonderful use of flashbacks. While traditional bildungsromans focus on a character coming of age in a chronological order, Three Day’s Road begins as Xavier returns home from the war, with his flashbacks and memories filling in the gaps for the reader as Xavier attempts to come to terms with himself and what happened.

A captivating piece of historical fiction, the novel highlighted not only the horrors of trench warfare in the First World War, but also a second, more subtle war being fought on Canadian soil by the First Nations peoples. The two narrators, battle-scared Xavier and his aunt Niksa, one of the few remaining medicine-woman, weave together a dual narrative that showcases the war in Europe alongside the one back home – fought between the early Canadian government and the remnants of the First Nations’ heritage. Both conflicts are intense in their own separate way, and the fates of both Xavier and Niksa hang on the outcome of each battle.

One of the more unique aspects of Three Day’s Road is its use of flashbacks to reconstruct the narrators’ pasts. In the present day, Niksa is paddling Xavier back to their home village on a canoe. During the flashbacks, we as readers are transported back to a different time and place in order to witness how everything in the novel came to be. Xavier’s flashbacks jump out at him like ghosts from the past, and recount his time in the trenches and how he, along with his childhood friend Elijah, made the jolting transition from boys to men due to the onset of the First World War. The flashbacks shed light on Xavier’s weary soul and highlight the magnitude of his post-traumatic stress.

On the other hand Niksa’s own flashbacks occur as she attempts to convey the story of her family’s past (and by extension her peoples) to Xavier in an attempt to ease his spiritual pain, though there is no doubt that Niksa’s recounting of her past seems to have a therapeutic effect on herself as well. The earliest flashbacks are of her childhood, and how she and her ill-fated band suffered mistreatment by the Canadian government, who attempted to “civilize” them to Western ways.

Overall both narratives (and their flashbacks) flow together fluidly, and intertwine with each other to become something more. Shell-shock mixes in with culture shock, and the narrative just expands from there. An exhilarating novel, one which I was glad I read.

Dystopian novels – a tried and true genre of literature. Yet Margret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale boldly takes the dystopian world a step further by asking the uncomfortable question: what happens to the women in dystopia? The answer is, as you’d expect, far from pleasant.

Atwood paints a bleak future in her novel: America as we know it lies shattered and toxic, and the Republic of Gilead is one of the few states to rise from the ashes. Gilead inherits the mantle of all “Big Brother” dystopian governments nicely, with a twist of religious zeal added for flare. Fertile women are treated as a treasured resource, as contaminants released into the land and air have rendered most of the population sterile. These fertile women, so-called Handmaids, are clothed in red and sent to Red Centers for re-education (read: indoctrination). Likewise, the rest of the population has been divided into classes, with Commanders and their Wives at the top, Angels ensuring safety of Gilead from threats external, Guardians maintaining order, and the Eyes acting as watchers of the State.

Amid all this we find the anti-hero of Atwood’s novel, a handmaid named Offred, literally meanning Of-Fred. Along the course of the novel Offred muses about many things pertaining to her past and present self, with her flashbacks of the past being particularly insightful to her current condition. The destruction and subsequent reconstruction of language into neologisms, an Orwellian concept, plays a critical role in reforming the way we view the world. “Crotch rot” is smoothed over and simply referred to as being “unhygienic.” Salvagings and Prayvaganzas are common (and often bloody) events. The Birthmobile harkens the birth of a child, though sadly there’s a quarter chance that an Unbaby will be born, another silent casualty of the toxins in the water.

Likewise, the oppression and divide between men and women have gotten so great that Offred and her Commander resort to illicit games of Scrabble, as opposed to the more traditional method of illicit sex from the past. Though the past is long gone, shards of memory still haunt Offred, especially flashbacks of Offred’s lost husband and daughter.

Atwood paints a near hopeless atmosphere for her protagonist, where even the concept of freedom itself is redefined; the hallmark of the past was “freedom to” do as you please, whereas the dutiful citizens of Gilead are privileged with “freedom from” the horrors and degeneracy of the past. The prose flows seamlessly, and easily conveys the more subtle and darker themes of The Handmaid’s Tale. Overall Atwood has created a literary champion of the Feminist movement, one that will leave its readers with a new found appreciation for the true sense of freedom.

District 9 was an intriguing, thought provoking film that was intended to capture and portray the spectrum of issues that face post – Apartheid South Africa, most notably racism. The movie, despite its relatively low budget compared to Hollywood, was well received and is considered successful. While the film seeks to tackle tough questions on political grounds, it fizzles out and falls short towards the latter half of the film, though I still applaud director Niel Blomkamp’s boldness for creating such a project.

The movie is shown in a documentary style setting, with actual interviews of South Africans (and their views on refugees) interwoven into the film at various points. While movie magic makes it seem as if the actual interviewees were expressing intolerance and disgust towards the aliens, the actual racist undertones that linger on in South African society is not lost. Though the film is politically charged and proclaimed to be a take on racism, one cannot help but notice that there are some inherently racist aspects of the film that somewhat mar the final product. Wikus, the protagonist is a well off, heterosexual white male (as are most of the people in charge at the MNU, it seems) while the Africans on the “good” side are seen mostly occupying grunt jobs. Even the special response force in the helicopter is all white, it seems. To make matters worse, the only African who plays a significant role in the plot is a Nigerian arms dealer. Whether all this was intentional on Blomkamp’s part to highlight the inherent racism that still remains is unclear.

Another important point is that District 9 lacks any clear good guy; most viewers watch the film rooting for neither side, thanks to the inhuman portrayal of the humans and MNU and the rather graphic depictions of the aliens, which are referred to as “prawns” in a derogatory manner. Out of the two main protagonists, Wikus is more of an anti-hero compared to Christopher Johnson, an alien who’s surprisingly intelligent and humane character align him with the more traditional hero role. Wikus is initially thought of as the good guy, doing his job to protect humanity and serve MNU, though as the film progresses viewers begin to question Wikus’ morality, especially as his disdain for the aliens becomes clear.

To me, District 9 felt like a film that housed a lot more potential to explore the themes of racism and humanity, though I concede that films are meant to make money and people don’t go to the cinemas with the intention of taking a lesson in politics. Throughout the film I found Blomkamp’s casting of Wikus and Christopher most compelling, and I wished that their fates were properly concluded. But perhaps their endings are best left to a sequel.

What are books at the most basic level? Words and sentences that blend together to weave a story? A portal to another world, where wizards and magic abound? Or as Willie van Peer would have you think, the cornerstone of modern society? While these are all true, books are on the most simplistic level, merely ideas. Ideas that wear ink and adorn pages, so that they may be passed on to readers like you and me. Ideas that en-flame the heart and captivate the mind, that slowly grow on you like a lover and then leave, harkening for a better tomorrow. Stalin himself acknowledged the immense sway ideas hold, stating: “Ideas are more powerful then guns.”

Though the Nussbaum and Van Peer’s articles we’ve been told that words wield power, but it wasn’t until we read Obasan and noticed the dramatic effect it had upon Canadian society that we realized how powerful a book can truly be. While the Japanese-Canadians interned in Canada during the Second World War suffered unfair treatment, their ordeal was often overshadowed by the true nightmares of the Second World War, terrors such as Auschwitz and Nanjing. These victims went on, suffering in silence throughout the years, until Joy Kogawa published Obasan and gave the victims of Japanese interment camps a voice. Once they were seen and heard, the public rallied behind their cause, leading to the apology and reimbursement of all victims by the Canadian government. In the same vein, Ellie Weisel’s Night showcased the atrocities committed by Hitler’s Third Reich.  Weisel’s small but powerful book was a moving firsthand account of the inhumanities of the human creature, and his book’s legacy still impacts people today.

Seeing literature actively play a part in society has been most interesting, and given me a new perspective on the social impact of works such as the aforementioned Obasan. By being able to “relive” the interment of Japanese-Canadians though the eyes of young Naomi, Kogawa puts her readers through the same ordeal she faced and develops an attachment between the reader and Naomi, Obasan’s child protagonist.

While most people (understandably) find Obasan powerful in it’s retelling of the ordeal of Japanese-Canadians during the Second World War, I found Obasan meaningful as it led me to understand the impact literature has. Not only on the literary world, but in the real world as well.

“What gunpowder did for war the printing press did for the mind” – Wendell Phillips

An interesting topic was raised this week, on the merit of literature in modern society. A key piece we studied was Nussbaum’s “Democratic Citizenship and the Narrative Imagination”, in which she claims that literary works and arts serve to improve one’s empathy and perception by placing readers in an array of situations they may never be in. Nussbaum goes on to conclude that literature is a cornerstone of democracy, and should be promoted as being essential for the progress of society as a whole.

“Where they burn books, they will also burn people” – Heinrich Heine

It should be worth noting that all movements past and present that we often view as oppressive have banned books. Ideas, be they good or bad, are powerful weapons, and groups that seek to curb the power of the ordinary citizen know that if they can control what their people think, they essentially control their population. Orwell’s 1984 and Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 touch upon these issues of a power-bloated state and of censorship, respectively. The concept of democracy means “power to the people” and thankfully most of the modern world is aligned with the ideals of freedom of speech.

“I am he attesting sympathy” – Walt Whitman

For every voice heard, there are many more drowned out amidst the cacophony of society. The poor, the underprivileged; those whom mainstream society rarely see and would rather not hear about. Thus, according to Nussbaum, literature gives a voice to the voiceless, and a face to the faceless, so that we may see and hear them as what they truly are; human beings like you and me.

While that concept is noble and true, Nussbaum ought to note that the very ideologies that lead to book burning were themselves first transmitted through literature.

Over the past week we’ve been going over the issue of human rights in class, namely the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR). Written by the Allied nations in the aftermath of World War II, the main purpose of the UDHR was to enshrine and protect basic human rights. Fun fact: the Soviet Union and China, two countries that don’t do very well in the human rights department, actually sent representatives to co-author the UDHR with the Western powers.

Now that’s nice and all, but what has the UDHR actually accomplished? In theory, it should mean that every person will have their basic human rights listed in the UDHR granted to them, everyone is at peace with their neighbors, and humanity as a whole advances towards the greater good.

In reality…well reality is bleak. While the UN must be commended for taking an unprecedented and much needed act of ratifying the UDHR, the same praise cannot be extended to the UN’s record of acting upon and enforcing the UDHR. Rather, the UDHR now seems like a yardstick to measure the qualities of different nations. Countries that do exceedingly well get to brag about it and view those that score lower with disdain. Countries that do score lower can get away with doing so more often than not.

The main problem isn’t that people don’t care; in fact that couldn’t be further from the truth. Almost everybody you meet on the streets will respect and be passionate about granting people their basic rights. The problem is that the people who are in power and who are supposed to ensure that the UDHR (amongst other international law) is upheld have no effective means of enforcing the law, and chastising those who dare break them. You can put as many laws, treaties, and legislatures in effect, but if your words hold no power and your arms have no reach then you might as well be talking to the wind. The now defunct League of Nations is a reminder of that.

Rwanda, Iran, and more recently Syria are prime examples for this. However one cannot magically solve the issues plaguing the international community today by simply granting the UN more power. The reason is two fold: First, who gets to draw the line and second, power corrupts.

Who gets the draw the line between what’s a violation to the UDHR (and other treaties in general) and what’s not? The US thinks that Syria is a prime example of a humanitarian crisis and wants to “liberate” Syria. Russia and China however think other wise. Political bickering and infighting has stalled the UN long enough for atrocities to occur many times. Rwanda and Bosnia are cases where intervention occurred only after terrible, terrible damage had been done. During the Sino-Japanese war, the Western nations were sympathetic to China’s pleas for intervention, especially after the siege of Shanghai, but were unwilling to take action with clouds of war looming closer to home.

The UN has to be able to quickly reach unanimous decisions and react (by any means if necessary) before rouge nations and unethical regimes pay heed. Yet at the same time it cannot be granted too much power, and must be held accountable for its actions. Lest we end up with a quasi-Star Wars scenario where Chancellor Palpatine “democratically” assumes all power and is henceforth referred to as “Emperor.” The balance between authority and power must be meticulously calculated.

It will be a long and arduous task before the UDHR is acknowledged and enforced worldwide, but it has to be done for a better future.

Welcome to UBC Blogs. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start blogging!

Yes, the title says it all. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never blogged before, and (unless my course grade depends upon it, like now) never will. I know people like to write about this and that (and themselves) mainly, but I’m not one of those people.I kept a journal once, for the lesser half of a quiet December I spent in Singapore, a December I would much rather forget. Once being the key word, for as the month wore on the time between entries stretched, till one day I realized I didn’t care anymore. And so I consigned my “journal”, a mere handful of pages, to a shallow grave somewhere within my drawers.

I know people who keep diaries, blogs, tumblrs etc. It keeps them entertained, it keeps them occupied, it keeps them happy. If you’re one of those people, good for you. Keep on doing whatever it is! I’m not one of those people, but I will try to keep an open mind on this whole new experience of blogging.

A fun fact, the term blog actually originated from the phrase “web log” from which I derived the title of this blog.