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This week the New England Literature Program (NELP) held its mass meeting. As a former NELP student, I wanted to commemorate this week, and encourage new students to apply to NELP, by writing about one of my most clear memories from my time spent in the woods. 

Mt. Chocorua looks and feels like it sounds: like someone took a bite out of its peak and left the remainder standing naked and incomplete against the surrounding hills. Rising only 3,500 feet in the air, Mt. Chocorua is truly menacing not due to its height, but because of its confusing and harsh trails, its jagged climb. It was too cold for an early May day, but my group and I faced the incline and the clouds with palpable eagerness for our first multi-day hike.

At the start of our ascent, I carried only the shelter of my hiking pack. Its contents were my only difference between unadulterated wilderness and a few comforts of the modern world, and I focused on this realization instead of memorizing Robert Frost’s Time Out, like I was supposed to be doing. As I began lining my feet with the trail, I mentally repacked my bag, chronicling its components– my portable refuge– with relief.

On the journey upwards, my shelter was my backpack. I occupied no space permanently and felt rooted only to my legs and my possessions. Then, as the sun began its descent, and the wind stung harder without the protection of its rays, we reached at 3,000 feet in the air our destination. As I turned, and looked up, I caught my first glimpse of a large cabin, an astonishing view and massive chains.

The Jim Liberty Cabin, as we soon discovered it is called, is secured onto the rocky face of Mt. Chocorua by two enormous metal chain-links, that stretch over the roof and firmly attach to the earth on either side. The chains– set in place because the structure formerly known as the Jim Liberty Cabin blew off the mountain in a vicious winter storm, and its replacement needed more reinforcement– each form a triangle with the ground.

With this knowledge, I approached the cabin entrance with trepidation and concern. I was thousands of feet higher than I usually am, had no means of technology and the only other humans within several dozen miles of me were my five co-hikers. The Jim Liberty Cabin, then, became the focal source of my comfort. Hiking is an exercise full of discomfort, so I desired a shelter that would allow me to relax my calves and lower back, escape the darkening chill and warm my feet. The Jim Liberty Cabin granted none of my dreams, leaving only the image of its nine wooden planks, latched to the walls in groups of three stacks, in three of the corners of the cabin’s only room, etched into my mind forever. When we closed the heavy wooden door, which terrifyingly locked solely from the outside, we found aggressive, deep scratch marks facing the inside of the cabin. We began searching for alternative emergency exits at once.

I spent my only night on Mt. Chocorua in a state of rest more than sleep. My body never adjusted to the harshness of my non-bed, and I was too distracted by the howling of the wind whipping around the roof to relax. Still, I was sheltered. I was surrounded by four sturdy walls, two rattling chains, and five snoring humans. I was not in any immediate danger, needed no medical attention or suffered no emotional damage. I was merely uncomfortable. The cabin, in all its horror, allowed me to safely occupy this once hazardous spot, away from the wind and the weather and the elements of night we miss while inside. It had no heat or pillows or outlets, but it provided basic structure and coverage, enough for six tired hikers to lie still for a few hours and wake to a vast sunrise. Slowly, we woke from light sleeps and stretched our eager legs. As we assembled our belongings, prepared to summit Mt. Chocorua for the first time, we reflected on Jim Liberty’s graciousness and gift. Our peers on the trip were scattered about the mountain sleeping in tents, and although my hips ached from their spot on my plank, I knew it was preferable to the harsh ground. A few hundred feet away, we turned back to our interim shelter. “To Jim Liberty!” we shouted, and began to climb.

When you are bored enough, you find the most interesting things on the Internet. For me it was a couple of comics, specifically those by a man named Brandon Graham. By no means am I a comic book nerd. I say this not as a reluctance to be a comic book nerd, but rather because it would be an insult to those who actually are truly comic lovers. Prior to my discovery of Brandon Graham, the only things I had read were Alan Moore’s “Watchmen” and “V for Vendetta” both of which were both very good reads. However, these two comics or ‘graphic novels’ were narratively driven and the art wasn’t exactly eye popping.
Off of these two books alone, I realized just how inventive the comic format was. I became fascinated by the storytelling possibilities that the medium offered. However, I never fully invested my time into comics because I found it to be a daunting task – like jumping into a show that has six seasons worth of episodes that you need to catch up on. (Not a great analogy because a TV show, being quite the passive form of entertainment, is far less daunting than actually buying and reading all those comic books). So for the most part I reservedmyself to reading graphic novels or completed collections, just to make my life easier.

Reading Graham’s “Multiple Warheads” is the first comic I have read in a long time, and it was awesome. Not so much because of the story, but the art, was just so pretty. His art is like a mash up of graffiti, manga, and Tin Tin. 

Here is one of his panels.

Just looking at this makes me wish I never stopped drawing.
I suppose there is no real point to this post other than me wanting to share this others.
The comic book is a truly interesting medium, and I for one, a recently declared English major, would not mind writing stories and working alongside an artist to make a comic.

Here is an interview of Brandon Graham to close it off.

I have always believed in the equality of genders, but I used to be afraid of the term “feminist” and I could never really see the immense disparity of power between the genders. I will never really see all the nuances of gender bias because I am male and have the power to ignore it, but now I am not afraid to attack rampant sexism of our culture. I owe this to a few powerful books I have read and a class that forced me to think about the issues in the books.

The class I took was CompLit 140 and while it was not my favorite class I have ever taken, I cannot thank it enough for changing me into a better person. Being forced to discuss feminism and sexism through a literary lens was immensely eye opening experience. The most notable novels that really affected me were Their Eyes Were Watching God and The Vagina Monologues. Perhaps this was because I had to analyze these two books the most as I don’t think they would have had the same impact if I read them for myself.

I would say that Their Eyes Were Watching God was my first real introduction to the feminist lens. When reading and analyzing this novel, I had to carefully dissect every character and plot line in order to really see the underlying feminist themes of the novel. My feminism grew with the love for the character Janie Crawford. Janie Crawford is far from a perfect person and that is why she is such a powerful character. She is one of the most well-rounded characters I have ever had the pleasure to experience. All of her choices are perfect to her character and they serve as a strong insight into the mentality of the character. Her growth and struggles throughout the novel helped to show me the issues of society through a female’s perspective. This novel’s ability to subtly portray these issues is truly beautiful and I would recommend it to any person.

While I do love Janie Crawford, the most important novel that I read through that class was absolutely The Vagina Monologues. I’m not sure if I’ll ever find anything that was as powerful as that was. Eve Ensler’s writing was deeply affecting and uncomfortable and inspiring. It is one of the best things I have ever read in my life and I hope to one day be able to see Eve Ensler perform these monologues herself. She discusses all the topics necessary for burgeoning feminist like I was. Her discussion of issues that I never thought about was what really made me turn the corner towards the label “feminist”. I urge everyone to please read this or go to a performance of it. I know it can be uncomfortable to read about the vagina, but that is why this book exists. It necessary for society to stop turning everything about the female gender into something to be ashamed of. These monologues are a necessity.

This is not why I am a feminist. I believe I would have become less afraid of the word one at some point in my life, but I probably wouldn’t be the fighter I am today without this class and these novels.

A common appraisal of the oft-overlooked lyricism in contemporary hip-hop is the idea that rap verses are modern poetry. Rap artists qualify for the structural paradigm of poetry self-evidently. A typical rap verse maintains a tight internal structure, rhyme scheme, and meter. But poetry is more than a series of rhymes. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, poetry can be defined as:

“imaginitive or creative literature in general”

This definition problematizes the traditional argument for the inclusion of rap lyricism into the canonical body of poetry. Sure, rap rhymes and follows a consistent structure, but the lyrics generally serve a commercial interest – selling an idea of a specific lifestyle. Moreover, the genre of rap comes along with a set of expectations over what content rap ought to present its audience. Therefore, rap lyric construction is an inherently formulaic process. This repetitive, formulaic process of song construction directly contradicts the notion of imaginative, spontaneous, and original creation that connote poetry. So, in an industrial moment like the mid 2000’s, when rap artists were expected to write songs about conspicuous consumption and the luxurious lifestyle their musical success afforded them, was there a space to be spontaneously creative?

I think Kanye West’s “Can’t Tell Me Nothing” is a highly creative, self-reflexive twist on the mainstream rap formula. West’s song conforms to genre expectations wholeheartedly. The chorus, “Wait till I get my money…/then you can’t tell me nothing” Demonstrates the typical attitude of a young, successful rap artist egotistically flaunting their wealth. Yet the story of the poem follows West’s inner struggle to maintain a functional, grounded personal life in the face of industrial and public pressure to live like a pop icon. Moreover, West inflects this struggle with images from his past, using Biblical motifs to problematize consumer culture with the Christian ethics of his life before fame.

The opening lines of the song show Kanye balancing the his elevated wealth with his desire to stay grounded:

“I had a dream I could buy my way to heaven/When I awoke I spent that on a necklace/I told God I’d be back in a second”

In three lines, Kanye tells a compelling story. He begins with a dream to make it big, but once he gains riches, he struggles to maintain his value system, conspicuously consuming under pressure to be a rap icon, and compromising his original values. Rather than use his wealth for good, he spends his money on a gold cross chain – an ironic transvaluation of Christian ethics to worshipping the almighty dollar.

In later lines, Kanye notes presents a highly self-aware and playful image of the opposing forces that tug at him:

“So if the devil wear Prada/Adam Eve wear Nada/I’m in between, but way more fresher.”

Kanye references a popular movie, Biblical imagery, and his internal struggle to negotiate the pop-culture world and his personal world in one compact, formulaic rhyme structure. He breathes a fresh take on a tried and true formula to not only stamp his personal identity on a commercial structure, but also to problematize the culture of mainstream rap. Kanye’s greatest creative success is in transforming a formula into a mode of personal expression.