Implicit v. Explicit

The difference between implicit and explicit arguments is the method by which each attempts to persuade the audience. An explicit argument seeks to attack a problem head on, forcing the audience to believe through sheer logic and reason. The arguer outlines every aspect of the argument through use of words, showing step by step the reasons he or she believes what they do. In an implicit argument, the arguer uses more subtle forms of persuasion. Through images, sounds, or indirect written or verbal means of communication, the arguer tries to gently shift the listener’s viewpoint. A video showing the carnage of whaling does not directly outline why whaling is wrong, but elicits a visceral response turning people off to the idea of killing whales for profit. The poem on pages 5 and 6 is a written work, but it does not list the casualties of war, or list the reasons war is wrong. It simply depicts the horrors of war, letting us know subtly that the writer thinks war is an abomination. The picture on page 5 is another implicit argument, giving many visual cues about the honor and pride one gains from serving the country. It is not an ad for potential recruits and does not extol the virtues of service. It simply shifts the subtle opinion of a viewer, letting them view the sense of accomplishment one gains from the military.

OUAM

I stand just off of stage left, leaning against the wall and twirling the two thin ropes that open and close the curtain. It is a nervous habit, and one I often undertake when the fear and exhilaration of knowing I am about to walk out on stage in front of a crowd is upon me. I watch Patrick Caraher finish his solo song and dance routine as the jester, for which he receives wild applause, both from the audience and from his supporters backstage. I condemn them as a crowd of unprofessional high school kids before joining in myself as the mood overtakes me. As he finishes, the lights dim and I wait for the musical cue for my entrance.

When I hear it, my heart jumps into my throat and I take my first steps out onto the dim stage. I am listening attentively for the footsteps of Elise Vreede, my partner in the coming duet and dance. When I hear her come on stage I turn around abruptly and blurt out my line: “Who goes there? Friend or Foe!” Now that this bit of timing is accomplished, I relax a bit and get more into character as our brief dialogue continues. I turn away from her as I admit that in a way I have changed, the cue for our song to begin.

My first note is not strong. I am still scared and am not as confident as I should be. However, as the phrase comes back, I force more air through my lips and bring the rest of the measure out more strongly. I think to myself that maybe I am up to the task, that maybe I am not the failure I suspected I was. As I come to the end of my first section, where I confess my newly strengthened love for Elise’s character, I begin to feel different. I am no longer anticipating the coming words and notes, not fearfully planning and hoping that they will come out correctly. I enter a zone where everything becomes automatic, where I no longer have to think or worry but simply sing, and revel in the music pouring out of me. It isn’t really about the play anymore, but really just belting out the song and loving it. I honestly forget the audience is there, my attention riveted on Elise.

I have never experienced anything like this. It is simply wonderful: months of practice and training and worry building and then falling away when the song becomes effortless. I barely knew what I was doing except that I felt more alive than I had in a very long time. I was performing, but for myself, not for the paying audience. The joy that comes with success, with outstripping your expectations is one I don’t often experience, but the feeling is like no other.

When our song ends, Elise is in my arms and I lean down to carry out the scripted kiss. When we were rehearsing it was at times awkward and unnatural. But here, when we are both full of the moment, it feels perfect, the matchless conclusion to our duet. When it is over I beam down at her, not smiling because I was acting like I was in love, and not smiling just because I kissed a pretty girl on stage, but smiling because I had achieved something great, something beautiful. It was a genuine grin expressing how overjoyed I was at proving wrong the doubting voices in my head.

We run offstage and into each other’s arms once more, ecstatic. We congratulate each other and receive congratulations from other backstage actors. The moment did not last long because we soon needed to be back onstage, but I will never forget the exhilaration of coming down from a stressful event in which we pulled through despite secret fears. The rest of the show was, for me, a denouement, because my peak that evening was not on the final note of the show but at the kiss that marked our triumph.

Memory and Imagination

Patricia Hampl talks of how the past affects us: “the radiance of the past-it draws me back to it. Not that the past is beautiful…” (36). This reminded me strongly of The Great Gatsby: the final lines, where nick talks of being borne back ceaselessly into the past regardless of how we try to fight against the current. I also remember a quote concerning how the past reaches out its shadowy claws to draw us back to it. Both of these pieces talk about the importance of the past and of our memory of that past. While I found it harder to connect with Hampl’s view of memoir, I did react quite strongly to the ideas presented in The Great Gatsby, which are similar but communicated in a very different manner. I do recognize the importance of the past in our lives, and I recognize the futility of attempting to escape it. Our past shapes who we are and even if individual memories disappear, we will always be shaped by the experiences we have had. Gatsby’s tale has affected my view of the world profoundly, because I see some of myself in both Gatsby and Nick, and I can see the dangers of following the paths they took.

Language

Language constantly evolves, both on a personal basis and on a cultural one. Gloria talks about how certain communities, left isolated from the larger groups that spoke their language, adapted different language traits than those who remained in the “mainstream”. This is evolution: a language evolves to fit the environment where it is spoken and the people who speak it. This happens constantly and it happens everywhere any language is spoken. It is, however, a long-term phenomenon, much as genetic evolution is. We do not necessarily see our language evolving (although one could make the case that our computer language and “leet speek” is in fact an evolution in our language), but on a larger scale we can see how our version of English has changed from the version spoken in Britain. This separation and co-evolution has shown how language grows and changes. The language I speak often changes based on the setting I am in. In a formal classroom setting I use more esoteric words to express complicated meanings and to show off my considerable vocabulary. In a one-on-one setting with a peer I will talk more like a teenager and use slang that would never cross my lips in a classroom setting. Everyone adapts their language to fit their situation, and I am no different.

Hope

Hampl talks of discovering that her life had a story, was a story. She realized that her bus trip was happening to her, that she was being "entrusted" with experience. An event that gave me a parallel if not exact realization occurred this summer. What I discovered was hope. I found that everything that had happened, was happening, would happen, had a purpose. The events in my life that I had been taking for granted, that I watched as Hampl watched the countryside go by, were real, that my experiences were shaping me and leading me onward towards some unforeseeable goal. I no longer fear pain or suffering because they shape us all into who we are meant to be. While we can't write off the trouble we experience, we can know that it was meant to be and the rest of our lives will be affected by what we learn from that pain. With this outlook, I have been able to cope with great trouble, large and small, whether it was personal or a loss that affected our entire community. If we forget that these pains were meant to be, it is easy to lose ourselves in the grief. If we have faith, if we have hope, we cannot be broken down and our losses will not have happened in vain. Ironically, I made this discovery when I broke down and lost myself in grief for a time. I do not often let my emotion control me, but when setback after setback jumped in the way of my goals, it eventually became too much, and I ran out of my house to take a walk with tears streaming down my face. After about twenty minutes of wallowing in self-pity, I began to reexamine things. I began to see the light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak, and strove for it with all my mental effort. When I reached it, I had found my answer. With hope for the future, with faith in ourselves, pain will never destroy us and we can become who we were meant to be, in time.

J.P. English

Congratulations on finding my blog LaMags. I wish you luck this year.